Sad But True
by Ecthelion of the Fountain
Summary: A story for Celegorm the fair, the third son of Fëanor. An attempt to give the life of a simple villain more details without turning him into someone who deserves sympathy. Rated K-plus for the possible cynical and biased views of characters.
1. Holier Than Thou

**Disclaimer: Characters and background all belong to Tolkien. I own nothing. **

It is a story that covers his life span - Celegorm the fair, the third son of Fëanor, also known as Turkafinwë (Turko) and Tyelkormo (hasty-riser). It is based on the accounts from both _The Silmarillion_ and _HoMe,_ to be more specific _HoMe 3_ and _11_.

The title _Sad But True_ is taken from the _Black Album _of_ Metallica_, as well as the names of chapters. Quotes before each chapter are from _Dream Theater_. All related credits go to them.

* * *

**Sad But True **

_**I'm your pain when you can't feel**  
**Sad but true**  
**-- Metallica, Sad But True** _

**Chapter 1. Holier Than Thou **

_Are you sanctified in your  
judgment of me?  
All that I deserve is what you were  
unable to see..._  
_**-- Dream Theater, Status Seeker **_in_** When Dream and Day Unite**_

_They said I fell in love with her as soon as I saw her, just because of her sudden beauty revealed beneath the sun. _

_But they were wrong; completely wrong._

As an experienced hunter, he was definitely capable of walking through the corridor without making his footsteps heard. But he took satisfaction in breaking the silence and had no intention to conceal his presence. The Naugrim carved many halls and chambers in Nargothrond. He was prohibited from exploring these caves freely when he was a guest, but this forbiddance had been voided since his cousin Finrod left. By this moment he had become familiar with this place, every corner, and every branch. No one could question him for what he intended to do, and no one would even try.

_Not exactly,_ he thought_. Someone did._ Orodreth, Finrod's younger brother, the steward here - of course, in title only. But did Finrod really think his weak brother could control this kingdom successfully, against his powerful kin? Was there anyone who could stand before the wills of the sons of Fëanor, not one, but two at the same time?

This was a devious passage, and he had issued an order - nobody could approach without his or his brother's permission. His beautiful captive was kept alone in the room at the end of this corridor, but he never thought of torturing or abusing her; why would he anyway? After all, he claimed that he would marry her; or more precisely, take her as his wife.

Lips curling, he managed a contorted smile.

Yes, he would marry her. Regardless whether it was against her will or not.

_My brother, bring her back with us. _

_...Why? You know I don't want to get into their strange business. _

_She's the daughter of Thingol, his only daughter. Thingol is never willing to open his gate for the House of Fëanor, but with her you will have the key to Doriath, a key that will definitely be of significant use. _

_What can I do with Doriath? _

_...Are you joking, my brother? Have you forgotten our Oath? We don't have enough strength now. We need support, as much as possible. And a chance is right in front of you, a chance that may never come again. Once you have her, Doriath will be ours. _

_...If my sight and my hearing didn't betray me I would say she loves that mortal. She will not marry me. _

_Let that mortal die. Doriath will be ours. Let Finrod die. Nargothrond will also be ours. The House of Fëanor will rule the whole Beleriand, while the usurpers can have only Hithlum...and Gondolin. _

...Gondolin.

His smile diminished.

A familiar figure was lying in front of the door. The door was locked with a delicate lock made by his brother himself. He and his brother were the only two who possessed the keys, and nobody else could see her or talk to her.

_Well, there is one exception. Huan. _

The wolf-hound that had followed him since the days in Valinor was lying still like stone, with both sorrow and vigilance in his eyes. _This is unacceptable_, he thought. If his hound remained here the whole night and this was apparently not the first time, he would not interpret it simply as an indication of Huan's favor for her.

_What are you worrying about, Huan? What do you fear I will do to her?  
_  
He shot the hound a cold glance, which made him stand up and step aside without making a sound. He noticed Huan's hesitation; but at least it was not suspicion or doubt. _You'd better trust me, Huan. I know this time you might not like my decision, but there are things you will never understand.  
_  
After unlocking the door, he entered the chamber. Lúthien Tinúviel, the only daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian the Maia, the most beautiful among all the Children of Ilúvatar, was sitting quietly near the door. Refusing all the delicate and luxurious clothes he and his brother had sent to her, she was still wearing her sky blue garment - the same one she wore when they found her. Her long dark hair was like the shadows of twilight, her grey eyes the starlit night.

He looked at her absently, again both surprised and disturbed by the fact that her beauty seemed to mean nothing to him. _This is strange_, he thought, _and unfair_. He could still remember her overwhelming beauty when she took off her cloak in front of them, even the sun would humble itself at that moment. But almost immediately he found the difference between him and his brother - Curufin gazed at her, unwilling to move his eyes; but he only raised one eyebrow, appreciating, yet without passion.

A sudden anger creeping into his mind, he kicked the door closed behind him, and made a step towards her. The chamber was not a big one, so this step significantly decreased the distance between them. He was not sure whether her nearly imperceptible flinch was due to the slamming sound or his approach; but he decided to take it as the latter and managed a smile, both lordly and mocking.

'Don't be uneasy,' he bent his head slightly to her with grace, as if he and she had been in a formal ceremony. Many predators would tease their prey, a fact nobody else could know better than he. 'I don't want to touch you, at least not now. In the future, maybe, but that depends on you.'

She straightened her back with perfect composure.

'I sent to your father to tell him: that mortal is dead, and Finrod too. I will be the king in Nargothrond, and you are willing to stay here to be my queen. You will marry me after I get word back from your father; but even then, I would still not force you to do anything, if that's your choice.' Seeing a flicker of surprise in her eyes, his smile deepened. 'I do not want you to die. I've heard enough about your importance to your father, and thus you are valuable only alive.'

He knew he had sounded like Curufin so far. But did it matter at all? It was not important whether the idea was from Curufin or himself, because he agreed with it. When one only had an unbreakable Oath to be concerned with while knowing the hope to fulfill it was still far out of sight, what else could he possibly want? At this moment, - a little spice to the plain dish, a little amusement in the tedious hunt.

She looked at him without saying a word. Contrary to what he had expected, she didn't show any fear, abhorrence or anger, not even the slightest sign. He found himself a little confused by her expression, but he was not surprised if he could not fully understand her. He was neither inclined to guess others' thoughts nor good at it. Obviously his younger brother Curufin was much more proficient than he in this.

_...Knowing more about animals than about people... _

Pain assaulted him, suddenly and violently. Almost trembling, he cursed himself, as every time it happened before. _It has been such a long time; why can't you just forget? _

He could feel her gaze. Her silence and composure suddenly made him completely lose his patience. He would not stay in this place any longer, for to face this female had become an unbearable torture. Abruptly turning around he began to stride towards the door; it was not desire that was troubling him, he knew. It was something else, sadder, yet more real.

'...Lord Celegorm.'

He stopped, but didn't look back.

'You will not go to rescue him as you promised.'

He didn't answer. And she didn't need his answer.

'Neither will you go to rescue King Finrod, although he is your kin.'

...She was smarter than he had expected. _It seems that beauty and wisdom do not always conflict with each other._

'...He is only my cousin.'

_What do you know, daughter of Thingol? My kin or not, none of it matters. ...This is not the first time I betrayed my so-called kin. Even if he dies, he will not be the first who dies because of me.  
_  
'...In fact you and your brothers never even tried to rescue your eldest brother.'

How could that nightingale-like voice be so sharp in words! He turned abruptly and burst out.

'That has nothing to do with you! ...Listen to me. Right now the best thing you can do is to pray, to hope that mortal can escape the fate of a cruel death. Then even after you marry me, I can still allow you to ...keep in touch with him, since I cannot touch you anyway. Compared to your father, I'm much more generous.'

He saw her face going pale and he was satisfied. That was the most troubled reaction she'd shown since he entered this room.

'...I will not marry you.'

'You don't have any choice.' He replied impatiently. 'The response from your father will only be some formality.'

'You are wrong, Lord Celegorm. It's my freedom to choose to whom I give my heart. You will never be able to force me to vow to be bound to you.'

'And fortunately I never planned to do so,' he answered coldly. 'As I've told you, I have no interest in you. It will be good enough for you to be my wife in name. If you would like, just go ahead and continue with that mortal. - He'll die soon anyway, and even if you two could have children, those children would be the same as he.'

Again, those words were not originally from him. It was Curufin who reached this conclusion when one day they brought up the discussion about the fate and future of this Elven Princess with that mortal. But he saw it extremely fit at this moment. To tear down the irritating pride and stubbornness of Thingol's daughter, cruel reality and clear disgust might be the only choices.

And he succeeded.

She didn't refute at once, because she would not deny the truth in his words. She looked at him calmly, and if there was any word that could describe what was in her eyes, it could only be sadness. Surprisingly, he found himself deeply troubled in this gaze. He could see clearly even without the ability of mastering people's minds that her sadness was not for herself.

Then words came from her. Words that nobody dared to say in front of him in the past.

'Lord Celegorm, you love someone else.'

'...Stop,' he said instinctively, feeling his heart begin to freeze in the chest.

'I know your interest only lies in Doriath. But do you truly believe it worth what you would have to pay for exchange, a bond you don't desire that will last until the end of Arda?'

He closed his eyes. _This conversation is becoming unacceptable_. He had to end it. 'I told you, - stop.'

'You and your brothers made an oath. But you did not give up your love for it.'

_Your assumption is already wrong. I didn't give up my love. I never did._

Suddenly he realized that he didn't put any guard around these thoughts. She read them from his eyes, and she had reached her conclusion. But he could not afford allowing her to say it, for he knew she would be right. So even before he realized what he was doing he slapped her in the face, just to secure her silence. He did not need anyone to remind him of some intolerable facts.

However, he underestimated the impact his action would have upon himself. The next moment he backed up and looked at his own hand in disbelief, stunned and abhorred. Violence was not strange to him these days, but to use it against his female kin, this was the first time.

A low growl rumbled from outside. He knew it must be Huan.

_Feel free to blame me. I won't deny what I did.  
_  
Then her voice broke the silence, sad but calm.

'I pity you, Celegorm.'

Her words were like a whip striking him mercilessly. He felt himself full of rage yet helpless, like a hound punished unfairly or a horse driven too hard. But there was nothing unfair. And he would never forget her words.

When he finally left, driven by some unknown urge that he couldn't understand, he didn't lock the door.

Later that day, Curufin came to see him. When his younger brother entered his room he was lying on his own bed, staring at the leaping flames of the candle, feeling no need for sleep at all.

'My brother, did you talk to her today?'

He nodded without taking the trouble to sit up.

'...What did she say?'

'What else could she say?' He suddenly became fidgety. 'Do you think she would be looking forward to marrying me?'

A guard came in with a light knock at the door. He waved him out impatiently, knowing his words must have been heard. _Probably tomorrow this stupid city will be filled with rumors that I've fallen in love with Thingol's daughter,_ he thought. _But whatever they say, I don't care. Sometimes lies are better than the truth.  
_  
'My brother, this is something you cannot fail.' his brother said in a gentle voice, his tone forever firm and convincing. Curufin could always make him uneasy. For among the seven brothers Curufin had the most resemblance to their father, not only in face but also in the talents of making. But Curufin's way was not their father's way, and this difference was particularly confusing when everything else was so similar. 'You know this is the best chance we've ever had, - if we want to fulfill the Oath.'

'Well, I really cannot see that it's helpful for us to fulfill the Oath if Finrod and that mortal die in the dungeon of Gorthaur.' He said sarcastically. 'For this time the Silmarils seem to be something that we only need to consider after we have two kingdoms ready at hand.'

The light in his brother's eyes turned cold. 'My brother, you don't need to act in such an innocent manner. Did you forget how you managed to instigate them to reject Finrod? You had said a lot even before I thought of anything to say.'

'And the things you thought of obviously had much more impressive effects.' He sat up, absently brushing back the dark hair blocking his sight. Among the seven sons of Fëanor he had the fairest appearance. Compared to his cousin Finrod who was now lying in Sauron's dungeon with his life in doubt, he might be a little in the shade; but the pride of the House of Fëanor offered significant compensation. '...No misunderstanding here. I did not mean to play innocent. That word became unapplicable to us long ago.'

_...And exactly when did that begin?_

He lay down again after his brother left, put out the candle, and looked into the darkness alone.

_Since when has betrayal turned into something so ordinary? Since when has killing ceased to be so disgusting? Since when has even biting the hand that feeds become something acceptable, actually quite natural?_

In the silence and darkness he saw himself again. Cold, proud, sword shining in hand, and fire burning in eyes. That was when he first heard Finrod declare that he would help a mortal named Beren retrieve a Silmaril from Morgoth's iron crown. Yes, it was Finrod's generosity accepting him and his brother in Nargothrond after their defeat in Dagor Bragollach. Considering that they were responsible for the slaughter in the Haven of Swans and killers of Finrod's close kin, Finrod had shown some great forgiveness indeed. But if he was not mistaken, this time Finrod was planning to help that base mortal to retrieve a Silmaril which must belong to the sons of Fëanor, and use it to exchange for the daughter of Elu Thingol. If Finrod wanted to die for his own stupid oath, let him be, - but not for the Silmarils, _their_ Silmarils. The Silmarils they vowed to take back at a stake of Everlasting Dark. The Silmarils they would never allow others to take, have or keep. Finrod knew this. When they took their oath, was he not present? - But he still made such an unbelievable decision. If the sons of Fëanor could allow this to happen, would there be anything else on Arda that could not be allowed?

He said a lot of things at that time. Just like his father in the high court of Tirion. Furious, fierce, proud and cruel. After him was his brother. Gentle tone, graceful words, yet with the same firmness and more vivid visions. Nargothrond would be brought to war by Finrod's stupidity. The evil fire of Morgoth would destroy everything they have. Haven't they witnessed the consequences of Dagor Bragollach? Do they want to follow the same path as Dorthonion? Or, if they are indeed courageous and valiant why not act as their High King and go to challenge the Dark Lord directly, face to face?

He and his brother succeeded. No doubt about that. Finrod only brought ten warriors and that mortal to that road, a road that would never lead to success. And now his cousin was lying in Sauron's dungeon, waiting to demonstrate a price for his own stupidity.

And of course he would not go to rescue him.

_...This is not the first time I betrayed my so-called kin. _

_And even if he dies, he will not be the first who dies because of me._


	2. Don't Tread on Me

_**Chapter 2. Don't Tread On Me**_

_  
I can see  
what trust and loyalty have done for me  
Falling miles from the mark  
with a thirst for revenge and a dangerous heart  
I've tried to wash from memory  
feelings of betrayal and the incidents  
that plague me since I lost my sense of innocence  
**-- Dream Theater, Light Fuse and Get Away in When Dream and Day Unite**_

He didn't sleep well that night. He had that dream again.

It was a dream with which he was well acquainted. It always started from Tirion, when the Light of the Two Trees was still shining on the lands of Aman, the Noontide of Valinor still hadn't reached its end and the Noldor hadn't been sundered and estranged by the lies of Melkor.

He was a friend of Vala Oromë at that time. It was that Vala who taught him the knowledge about animals and plants, and it was also Oromë who gave him the powerful hound Huan, a precious gift indeed. Soon he became the most renowned hunter in the Noldor, and he mastered the languages of all the animals. When he was not traveling with his father and brothers on the lands of Aman, he often rode on the plains of Valinor, and his loyal friend Huan would follow him.

He was the third son in the House of Fëanor. His father gave him the name Turkafinwë, because even among the Noldor who were renowned for their strength and skill, he still stood out. Later he acquired another nickname - the fair; for he had the most handsome appearance among the seven brothers. Certainly, this didn't necessarily mean that he would have to be the most impressive one. But if one could be like him, - a prince of the Noldor, with a father widely considered a true genius, and from the house that was the first line of the heritage of the kingship, - it seemed to be inevitable that pride would arise in him. In fact, it was, for the most part, even understandable.

The same reasons also applied to all of his brothers. Pride was definitely part of the tradition in their house, and nobody ever raised a question about it. _It's nothing wrong; why would it be? You don't conceal a jewel when you own it. _They were the heirs of the Spirit of Fire, and fire was in their blood. How could others criticize them for it, not to mention presuming the same?

Then came that day after riding he returned home as usual, and saw his cousin Fingon sitting in their hall talking to his eldest brother Maedhros. He nodded slightly to Fingon out of courtesy and sat down next to Maedhros, crossing his legs in a comfortable position, planning to change his boots later. Not until then had he noticed the strange child sitting near Fingon, dressed in a snow-white tunic and leggings, and a pair of boots with silver laces.

'Who's this?' he frowned, looking up at his eldest bother. Yet before he received any answer the skinny child with shining dark hair, almost blinding in contrast with the nearly transparent white skin, stood up defiantly.

'You are quite a rude one,' was the first sentence from the child. 'If you wish to know someone's name, why not ask her directly?'

Maedhros coughed with laughter, and had to look away. And he blinked in disbelief. '_Her'_?!

He stared at her, and she stared back. They stared at each other, both refusing to budge, until he decided to give up. _...Anyway, one cannot be too serious with children, _especially when he had already had the experience of dealing with four younger brothers.

'Then what is your name, _please_?'

The child turned her head in conceit. 'I don't want to tell you.'

Even now he still didn't remember what expression was on his face at that moment. He only knew that for a while he even forgot his own famous habit - his mother called him Tyelkormo, hasty-riser, because he would usually jump up when irritated. He heard laughter bursting out from Maedhros and Fingon, and felt anger rising inside. _If this were a boy I would not hesitate to give him a slap. What a pity she's not!_

'Irissë,' Fingon recovered almost immediately from the laugh and turned to that child with a serious face. 'That's enough. Don't forget, you insisted that you want someone who really 'knows' animals to teach you how to ride. And I can tell you that nobody could possibly be better than Turkafinwë in this regard.'

Her brother's words slightly softened her face, yet he was shocked._ Irissë? Then that little brat is the younger sister of Findekáno and Turukáno, the minor daughter of Nolofinw_ë_, ...actually my cousin?! _When he gathered himself from the dismay he found her looking at him suspiciously, obviously scrutinizing. To be stared at by a child in this way was quite unpleasant, but right when he felt his patience had almost reached its threshold she broke the silence, and her words would have made him literally jump up had Maedhros not stopped him in time.

'Then, you are the cousin knowing more about animals than about people.'

_Regardless whether you are a child or an adult, a boy or a girl, - I'll teach you a lesson, I swear._ He roared in his mind with the voice of wild wolves.

It was so many years later that he came to realize how much truth was in her words.

_  
...They say the love between Elves always happens at the first glance. But that is obviously wrong. To fall in love at the first glance...with that child whose gender people cannot even tell?_

Regardless whether he knew more about animals than about people, at least he was certain that he was not that perverted.

Several days later, when he took her out for riding, he was not unwilling; actually he was rather enthusiastic, because he planned to fulfill his oath. He made her horse disobey her on purpose by asking him to ignore her commands and try to shake her off in a way that would not bring real harm. He expected that she would cry out soon, and thus her annoying and unfounded pride would be smashed without any doubt. But she refused to satisfy him. She never gave up or complained. She was totally in a daze, but she still somehow managed to keep wrestling with her horse, stubborn like a rock. Finally even Huan could no longer bear watching her hard-pressed lips and intimidating determination. Seeing the sympathy in Huan's eyes he had to admit his failure, and decided the trick should end.

_Aye. Maybe one indeed shouldn't be too serious with children._

The horse was visibly relieved upon receiving his instruction to 'cooperate with her', a posture that could be interpretted as a long sigh. Leaning back to his own white stallion he watched her commanding the horse to start galloping, and her pure joy suddenly filled him with guilt. _Perhaps I overreacted. She's only a little girl after all, no matter how terrible her temper is._

She stopped far away, then turned around and started heading back. He watched absently, beginning to feel that it was a mistake to take this teaching responsibility. _No wonder Findekáno and Turukáno wouldn't do this. They are wise indeed. _He waved Huan away for a leave, and left his horse to sit down on a boulder nearby. For a moment his mind wandered; until he heard the sound of hooves getting louder and louder, and realized they were approaching him.

When he jumped up the horse was already near at hand. Without thinking he dashed to the side, dodged the hooves out of pure instinct, then quickly grabbed the reins and dragged her down with her waist in his arm. With the last bit of sense left in his burning mind, he fought hard with the urge of thrashing her, but was not very successful - when he put her down to the ground his movement could by no means have been considered 'tender'. - It was actually more of a 'throw' than a 'put'.

'What did you plan to do?! ...Let him tread on me? Then you better know, that won't be possible to the end of days!'

She shook his hands off fiercely. 'You did it on purpose! You asked him not to listen to me.'

But he didn't listen to what she was saying. After the original burst of anger his attention was drawn to his own wrist, where she just touched. Her hands were wet, but obviously that was not simply because of the sweat. For the mark left on his wrist was crimson in color.

Ignoring her protest, he grabbed her, opened her fingers, and forced her to extend her palms. He saw blood traces all over her hands, which could only be the result of holding the reins too tight for too long.

'...Why didn't you tell me?'

She took back her hands. 'Why should I tell you?'

The expression on her face reminded him of his younger brothers. Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod and Amras. Certainly they were very different in many ways, but at the same time they did share something in common - pride and unruliness. His two elder brothers must have been the same way, and so had he himself. _Is she indeed from the House of Nolofinwë? _In fact she was like a Fëanorian, and it had always been a pity that they had never had a sister.

Instead of arguing with her he turned to his white stallion and took out a small bottle from the saddlebag. He poured all the potion inside onto her hands. 'It will heal soon,' he assured her. The medicine was prepared long ago, so long that he even couldn't remember when; it was originally prepared for himself, but he had already passed the age when one could easily get hurt.

Surprised by his action she looked up into his eyes; then for the first time since he knew her, she gave him a smile.

'...So, you cannot be counted as completely neither rhyme nor reason.'

He found the urge to slap her returned.

When had that urge subsided? And when did he find it no torture at all to teach her riding and hunting? When did he realize that she grew up, no longer that skinny child when she stood beside her brothers? And when was she called the White Lady of the Noldor, and would nobody take her as that little girl in the House of Fingolfin any more?

He didn't know. He only knew she was always close to his family and remained so even after they were touched by the Shadow. Most of the time she was with him; but she liked Amrod and Amras also, his youngest red-haired twin brothers. She often came to seek them out and they would go riding and hunting together; and they liked her and welcomed her, as if she were indeed a member of the House of Fëanor.

But he never realized how important she truly was to him, until his house was exiled to Formenos, and he hadn't seen her for quite some time.

'Is that a joke?'

She tossed her head backwards, laughing without consideration.

'You love me? Don't be absurd. You cannot fall in love with someone you watched grow up.'

He laughed with her, more naturally than he had hoped. Their laughter startled a flock of birds nearby, and the sky was full of screeching and flapping of wings for a while - the sky of Valinor, forever lit up by silver and gold, forever filled with light.

But that day he was crueler than ever. Although the games were already more than they could carry, he still had no intention to stop.

'Enough. Don't kill without need.'

He didn't pay attention to her, as if he hadn't heard what she said. But she spurred to catch up with him, approached him, and then suddenly reached out to grab his reins. This was a dangerous maneuver, so dangerous that even he would not try lightly. Then everything turned into turmoil and he couldn't recollect what had exactly happened. Her cloak embroidered with silver stars flapped in the air, and her white gloves and silver cuffs occupied his whole sight. Scared, he realized that she had lost her balance; his horse was dragging her down from her saddle. Faster than any thought he dropped his bow and caught her, and fell.

He shook his head heavily, and it took more effort than he expected to regain his orientation. He was no longer in the saddle, but on the grass; she was sitting next to him staring at him, with several funny grass-blades and some blood traces on her face. Her skin was white, so white that it was almost transparent; but she appeared to be fine, at least not seriously injured. Then he realized he was still tightly holding her upper arm, and her hair nearly touched his face.

'Tyelkormo, ...if you were serious, I apologize.'

_You apologize. But for what? For your mockery, or for your rejection?_

He released her and backed up a little to increase the distance between them. A sharp pain assaulted him on the shoulder, but he didn't even blink, being determined to ignore it.

'You are my cousin. In fact I wish you could be my brother.'

He laughed harshly. 'That is exactly what I meant. So, why did you want to apologize? There's nothing to be forgiven; or, did I do anything that caused confusion?'

He didn't know if she believed him. But what else could he do? He was a son of Fëanor. This was the price of pride and dignity.

Sad, but true.

Now in the dream, he found he was given the chance to examine his own face at that moment - not knowing if it was illusion he was drawn to her gray eyes by some irresistible force, and when he was finally close enough, he saw his own image reflected in those clear mirrors.

A proud and unbending smile was carved on that fair face. But his eyes revealed all the secrets. Those were the eyes of wounded beasts; flames of pain and anger were twisting and rising behind gray mists.

His eyes were burning in the thick gray mists of Araman.

'Come with me, Irissë. I cannot tell you more, but trust me, this is important. Very important.'

She stood in the darkness without the slightest move; the light in her eyes was cold as stars.

'...You said you wish I could be your brother, Irissë! My family will take you as our own, I swea-'

'Tyelkormo!' She snapped. 'I don't want to hear this. To swear is not something you do everyday. And don't forget that you have sworn once, an oath that can never be broken. Isn't that enough for you?'

'I don't mind giving you another, because I'd never want to break it!'

These words sprung out without consideration furiously and fiercely, but also so naturally - because they didn't rise merely at this moment. He had thought about them before. He thought about them over and over again, only too many times.

'Then that is the reason. I don't want that kind of oath.' She raised her chin, a posture he was so familiar with, stubborn and unruly, unlike a daughter of the House of Fingolfin, but like a son of the House of Fëanor.

'I appreciate your kindness. I do wish that you could be my brother. But I know you never wished I could be your sister.' _What you really want is for me to be your wife. But that is impossible._

'...So I won't go with you; whatever reasons you can give me, or however important it is.' _Because I don't love you. I don't love you in the way you want._

He backed up a step. For a moment a certain kind of urge almost overwhelmed him; he wanted to knock her unconscious and take her away, and whatever she'd like to say afterwards he wouldn't care, even if she would hate him forever after. But another voice stopped him, coming from the darkest corner of his mind.

Why do you want to take her with you? You know what she said is true. She doesn't love you, not now, and probably not ever. Even if you could take her away, what then? It doesn't matter whether she hates you. You'll have to watch her fall in love with someone else and reject you thoroughly and mercilessly. Why would you choose this torture? All you cannot get, why would you let others have? You feel it's not absurd and ironic enough?

Let her stay here. Let her stay in the coldness and darkness. Let her stay on this side of the Grinding Ice. Though she still doesn't belong to you, at least you don't need to witness her going to others.

He turned and left without uttering a word, and even didn't look back.

He heard his father laughing as one fey again.

**'None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved.'(1)**

The foreboding became true. Because of this foresight he went to seek her out, flinging caution to the wind, leaving pride and reservation behind, and letting away the bitterness of being rejected before. But what did he get? - Another ruthless rejection. This time, a thorough one.

**'Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!'(2)**

He saw his eldest brother step aside silently, refusing to obey. Yet his younger brother Curufin followed his father without hesitation. The corners of the mouth twitching, he thought he made a cruel and sullen smile. Holding his head high he took a torch from a guard and started striding towards those beautiful white ships. Then he felt a surprising gaze falling upon him from his eldest brother.

_My brother, don't try to fool me or even yourself. Your so-called friendship only triggered your weak words; in fact you have never tried to change anything. Words or action. In this sense, you are no better than me._

Looking at the seemingly boundless fire in Losgar, he wanted to laugh, but only managed to curl up his lips.

* * *

For the possibility of a marriage between Celegorm and Aredhel: According to _HoMe 10, Laws and Customs of the Eldar,_ first cousins are not allowed to wed, but there is one exception: if their fathers are half brothers this kind of marriage is legitimate. To me, this exception only means that the sons of Fëanor could have the freedom of marrying their female cousins, more specifically, Aredhel and Galadriel. (Is there any other example of half brothers other than Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin?) Also in _The Silmarillion_ Aredhel was said to have maintained close friendship with the sons of Fëanor in Valinor yet 'to none was her heart's love given', which proved from another point of view that such love was not considered out of their customs. 

For the usage of names: It is always a little tricky to use different names. Theoretically when they lived in Aman all their names were in Quenya. But given the 'recalling' nature of the story, I decided to use their Sindarin names, or the well-known names, in the narrative, while in Celegorm's thoughts and characters' conversations the Quenya forms.

(1) (2): direct quotes from _The Silmarillion_, Of the Flight of the Noldor


	3. Through the Never

_**Chapter 3. Through the Never**_

_In a garden where the seeds were spilled_

_I favored the few that stood strong in the sun_

_As I reached for the profit of my prize_

_I found I had trampled the forgotten ones_

_--** Dream Theater**, **Status Seeker** in **When Dream and Day United**_

Then he hadn't seen her for a long time. In fact, he thought he would never see her again. If she hadn't gone back to beg forgiveness from those Valar, she probably would have died and returned to the Halls of Mandos. With _hroar_ of flesh and blood, how could they possibly cross Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice that only the Valar and Ungoliant had passed before?

But under the cold, starlit sky in Middle-earth he thought of her, not only once. In the seemingly endless night he extended his thoughts to the West, only to find some unknown shield blocking him, separating Middle-earth from the Blessed Realm. **_The Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out._**(1) So those Ones of Power had accomplished it perfectly with surprising efficiency, which was really impressive compared to their slow action and lack of enthusiasm on the matter of going after Morgoth.(2)

...But even if you had known where she had been, alive or dead, what difference could it have made? When you took the torch to burn those white ships, hadn't you already made your choice?

_If one choice could eliminate all that had existed..._

Yet he was far from sentimental. That word could never be used to describe him, Celegorm Tyelkormo Turkafinwë. He was neither a poet nor a minstrel, unlike his elder brother Maglor. Maybe it was impossible for him to forget; since his pride would not allow him to let go of the loss, the frustration, or the shame of being rejected. But it was not only his pride. He would not simply forget, because he knew that he had loved, and this love he would not have easily given.

...He was a son of Fëanor.

In the cold wind of Hithlum, the dark-haired prince gazed at the rippling mountains under the starlight, with the only companion of a silent hound.

If you had only one oath of revenge to worry about and only the words of your father to obey, your life would be really simple, even though Morgoth would never let you enjoy a single moment of peace.

He didn't have any hesitation or disgust towards war at all. On the contrary, after the initial surprise of the unexpected attack, he found himself filled with the urge of killing and the thirst for blood. _This time nobody can say it's unrighteous any more._ Dagor-nuin-Giliath, Battle-under-stars. In this first open battle with Morgoth his strength was perfectly revealed. He understood the languages of animals and birds not only in Valinor, but also in Beleriand; and thus he collected tidings about the Enemy's movements from those running away from the dark creatures. On the east side of Ered Wethrin, near the spring of Sirion, he set his enemy up, then literally erased all the troops Morgoth had ordered into Beleriand by burying them in the Fen of Serech. It was not a difficult task for him. It was simply an application of his hunting strategies and skills.

But the Enemy was more powerful than they had imagined. They won the battle, and they paid the price. His father, Fëanáro Curufinwë, Spirit of Fire, the mightiest of the Noldor, driven by the doom and the fire within, met a most unusual end, just like his unusual start. His eldest brother accepted the invitation of negotiation from Morgoth neglecting the objection from the other brothers, hoping to see the plot of the Enemy, yet failed to see the fact that the Noldor were never a match to their Enemy in impudence. When Morgoth sent to them claiming that they must give up fighting if they wanted their eldest brother back, his first reaction was 'never'. Even Maglor showed better sense than to trust promises from the Dark Lord. The blood of their father and their grandfather was already enough for them to make a decision; not to mention the fact that they vowed an unbreakable Oath. Moreover, would the House of Fëanor be shriveled and manipulated without an eldest brother?

So after defeating the enemy they retreated to the Lake of Mithrim. They needed to recover from the battle and reserve their strength. Maglor took over Maedhros' responsibility temporarily, although it was obvious that he was not accustomed to that leading role.

And more than one saw this fact.

When Curufin came to him, he was not surprised at all.

'My brother, Makalaurë is too weak. We are fighting a war with our Enemy. We will take our revenge on Morgoth. We need someone who can lead our soldiers, not poets and minstrels full of romantic and innocent thoughts.'

Regardless of his true motivation, Curufin's words made sense. They could not rely on something like Noldolantë to move the Enemy. Moreover, when the entire people was preparing for war, it was not the time to write songs to mourn the Fall of the Noldor. Maglor was not a good leader. He was too gentle and too indecisive. In addition, he seemed to be striving to maintain some morality that didn't apply in their actual situation, or at least trying to set that kind of thing above many other more significant matters.

_That's ridiculous. In Losgar both you and I were executors of the betrayal. We are no better than our eldest brother. Useful or not, words or action, he at least expressed his disapproval. If you really regret the Haven of the Swans, what excuse can you find for the burning of those white ships?_

'And if not Makalaurë, I think you are the next in line, my brother.'

He knew what was in Curufin's mind. He might be hasty in temper, but he was not naive, for naiveté would not go with his mastery of strategies and tactics. He laughed. 'No, I don't have that intention. To take revenge on the Enemy is a crucial matter that involves every one of us and should be given proper priority. Of course we should decide all the further actions together.'

And this 'we' did not mean to include Amrod and Amras. The youngest twin brothers were always put under the protection of the elders, and thus never had too much insight in such matters. Caranthir was more capable and more enthusiastic, but he was better at handling the affairs on the battlefield than the menial decisions and management in everyday life. Thus under his unspoken agreement with his brother it did not take too long for the House of Fëanor to go back to order after their eldest brother's capture. If there were any difference, it would only be that Maglor was carefully undermined to become a leader in name. Lord Celegorm, Lord Caranthir, Lord Curufin. He managed all the defense arrangements. Caranthir handled all the minor conflicts with the enemy. Curufin took over all the other everyday affairs.

Nobody questioned who would inherit the kingship left behind by their eldest brother.

Because nobody felt it important at that moment.

And nobody questioned whether they should try to rescue their eldest brother.

Because nobody thought it possible. Plus, was there truly a need?

_'...In fact you and your brothers never even tried to rescue your eldest brother.'_

_You are right, daughter of Thingol._

**...By treason of kin unto kin...(3)**

If he had rejected his own brother, his own blood, how could a cousin be any more important?

The Moon was rising.

Silver, not as pure as the light of Telperion, yet far brighter than the stars.

And the trumpets of Fingolfin were echoing on the shores of Middle-earth.

He never expected that the House of Fingolfin and the House of Finarfin could succeed in that crossing by foot. Under the first-rising young sun he stood in front of the camp of the House of Fëanor near the Lake of Mithrim, gazing at the banner of blue and silver flying afar in the golden sunlight, and suddenly realized that the most difficult part for him was not facing the rage of their father's half brother.

Now he knew for sure that she was alive. She survived the journey across Helcaraxë with her father and brothers. If this was already beyond his imagination, he certainly could not imagine what he could say or do once he saw her again, nor could he speculate what she would say or do once she saw him.

_...knowing more about animals than about people..._

Maybe. Not without struggle he started the painful reasoning. Long ago when she found out his trick with her horse, her revenge was simply commanding that horse to tread on him. Now his house had betrayed hers by deserting them on the cold ice in the long night for hunger and death; even though he himself tried to part her from that fate, the fire in Losgar still convicted him of the same. What would she do to take revenge on him? To throw all the icebergs of the Grinding Ice onto his head, or to shatter his last bit of secret hope by another cruel declaration of rejection?

...He was almost sure that she would like to do both. She probably wouldn't even care about the order.

So he chose to escape.

'We'll retreat to the other side of the lake.'

'What?!' Caranthir growled, frowning. 'Are we afraid of them-'

He shot a warning look to his dark-skinned brother. 'Be careful with your temper, Moryo.' _Bad temper,_ he thought, _even worse than mine. But I am the one called hasty-riser. Is Mother's foresight finally inaccurate, or have we already changed?_ 'Everyone can see that we are outnumbered. If there would be any conflict, I would not have the confidence to win.' _And they are not Orcs. They are also not the Teleri. They are the Noldor. Do you really want to fight with your own kin?_

'Tyelkormo is right.' Maglor was forever the one that preferred to avoid conflict. Curufin didn't say much at the time, because there was no doubt that the decision was appropriate. But later his younger brother found him in person and tried to inquire of him, although in a way deliberately concealed.

'My brother, you didn't make this decision for some other reason, did you?'

Nobody had ever made any implication about his possible feelings towards her before. At least not in front of him. He never admitted them in public, and his temper made it so obvious that he would not tolerate any mockery on this topic. Probably his eldest brother had some understanding, but would not spread it around. As for his brothers who had been married, - Maglor, Caranthir, and Curufin, - when they chose the road of exile, their wives did not choose to follow them. The House of Fëanor came to Middle-earth as males only. And this was far from a comfortable topic.

Therefore Curufin's words got him on his feet in an eye blink, but his brother assured him before he could burst out.

'My brother, I don't mean to offend you at all. Your decision was right; I only hope that all your decisions in the future will be right too.'

He didn't see any mockery in Curufin's eyes. Or there was, but he couldn't tell. Finally he decided to accept his brother's explanation and took no offense; but he found himself unable to make any promise. _What lies in the future? If the future would inevitably bring me to a war against her, what would I do?_

At that time neither of them could know that they actually didn't need to worry about it. For later their cousin Fingon accomplished something that nobody had ever imagined. He went to the intimidating Thangorodrim, and found his old friend on a cliff in the mountains of the Dark Lord. The eldest son of the House of Fëanor, Maedhros, was back.

Now Maedhros' health had fully recovered. Tall and strong, still in flawless shape, even the once dry and tangled copper hair was now luxurious and shiny again. Of course, there must be some difference - he lost his right hand, torture and pain were forever carved in his eyes. Those were the price everyone would pay when they made mistakes dealing with Morgoth.

But apparently those could not stop him from reclaiming the leadership in the House of Fëanor. He had advantages in all aspects. As the eldest son, the kingship was his birthright. He was the one who always took the lead with the younger brothers. And he once was one of the mightiest warriors in the Noldor. _Yet if you think I'm weaker having lost one hand, you all might as well have a try?_

The eldest son of Fëanor must have prepared seriously for this day. One cannot learn to fight without his previous sword hand in a day, not to mention becoming even stronger both in skill and speed.

'Now Findekáno must have become a double-handed warrior,' later Curufin commented. But whatever change that had happened to that cousin would not bother him. The only importance was in what he saw in his eldest brother's eyes when Maedhros' sword broke his defense and rested on his chest. At that moment he had to admit he was defeated, not only in pride and will, but also in vigor and strength. It was a painful realization. But for him there was no choice.

_Maybe we should feel lucky that someone is willing to take that responsibility for us._

A hollow and pale excuse indeed.

He never realized how important ambition and power were to him when he actually had them in his hands. But without them, the shadow that he thought he had rid himself of crept back.

Now this was already a widely accepted fact. Maedhros regained his status, even more convincingly this time than before; for it did not simply come with his earlier birth than the others. Maglor felt indeed relieved, Amrod and Amras again didn't have too many concerns, and even the constant doubt of Caranthir disappeared after he tested his eldest brother's strength.

_But it is impossible that everyone gains. Then who are the ones that had to swallow the loss?_

However, their eldest brother would not grant them the time to digest it. To their surprise, the first decision made by Maedhros was intended to extend it to the whole House of Fëanor.

'I will give up the kingship to Fingolfin.'

'Why?' Caranthir cried in disbelief. 'You want to show your appreciation to Findekáno, because he saved your life?'

For a moment the light in Maedhros' eyes was so intimidating that Caranthir almost choked on his words. But when the copper-haired prince spoke his voice was calm, even with a little cold humor. 'How I plan to appreciate his saving my life is something that only I need to be concerned with. It's not likely that the kingship of the House of Fëanor could serve this purpose. However, the House of Fëanor will last without a crown, but without the support from those two houses I do not think we can defeat the Enemy and fulfill our Oath. - Take it as the necessary price in exchange of their strength.'

'Then the House of Fëanor will indeed be exiled.' After a short silence Curufin said softly. '_Dispossessed_. This was mentioned in the Prophecy of the North.'

'Then let it be the last part that would come true in that evil curse,' was the reply from their eldest brother.

He was present when the kingship was passed. As a son of Fëanor this was mandatory, according to their eldest brother. Because they were also princes of the House of Finwë, and the House of Finwë should not be divided. _How hypocritical is that, my brother._ But compared to another problem he had not realized until he stood there, accepting Maedhros' reasons became trivial.

…_The House of Finwë. Then would she be here too?_

He could not tell whether he was disappointed or relieved when he did not see her. _So, did she also choose to escape? _…Maybe to throw all the icebergs of the Grinding Ice onto his head was too difficult after all, even for her._ But does this mean she doesn't want to? Or does it not? _Starting to feel a headache he stopped._ Her absence does not mean anything. _It was more of a labyrinth than ever.

But after all the estrangement, confusion, and division, the Noldor were finally re-united. Later they took measure of the realm in Beleriand and kingdoms were assigned, and as a result he and his brothers set out to the east. Now he was the Lord of Himlad with Curufin, and the Pass of Aglon between Dorthonion and Himring was also under his command. Some years later, Fingolfin held Mereth Aderthad near the pools of Ivrin, the Feast of Reuniting. He received the invitation but declined, making Maedhros and Maglor the only two Fëanorians present. He had never seen her since she set her feet on Middle-earth. He only knew that she was still alive, first went to Nevrast with Turgon, then to a hidden city unknown to any, later called Gondolin.

------

(1)(3) From _The Silmarillion_, Of the Flight of the Noldor

(2) In fact the Hiding of Valinor had not happened by then. As for why Celegorm could not reach the West any more, I would like to leave it for the readers to interpret.


	4. The Unforgiven Part I

**_Chapter 4. The Unforgiven - Part One_**

_You lie alone with the memory_

_feeling the ceiling and walls closing in_

_on your conscience - my ally the guilt - your affliction_

_from preying on praise as you fed_

_an attention addiction_

-- **Dream Theater**, **Light Fuse and Get Away **from **_When Dream and Day Unite_**

A long time had passed since the latest action Morgoth took against the Noldor. Certainly this did not mean the Dark Lord never made any attempt after the bitter defeat in Dagor-nuin-Giliath. Once a great army of Orcs was sent swarming towards Dorthonion, the highland Angrod and Aegnor had been guarding with caution. For a time some of those creatures even made through the Pass of Sirion and the Gap of Maglor, and broke into Beleriand. But in the end this only set the Noldor the glory of Dagor Aglareb - King Fingolfin and Maedhros did not 'wander abroad with little thought of war' as the Enemy had expected. They came upon the main host of the Dark Lord from either side as it was harassing the sons of Finarfin, and smashed it like iron between hammer and anvil.

He could still recall the excitement of pursuing the Orcs across Ard-galen and destroying them utterly to the least and last. By that time he had completely understood what his father must have felt when making the rash decision of going straight into the hinterland of the Enemy. _Let the foul blood of those evil creatures spill on the shiny blade. Let the limbs of those filthy monsters break under the thundering hooves._ His loyal friend Huan, the hound from Valinor, always followed him. Orcs were running from Huan's rage, and were slaughtered mercilessly by his sharp teeth and fearful claws. When they finally reached Dor Daedeloth, - the place where their father fought fearlessly surrounded by balrogs, from which the gates of Angband were already in sight, - their eldest brother Maedhros ordered them to stop. Looking up, his gaze skipped over the Elven knights who bore the Star of Fëanor, and fell upon the troops led by the royal banner of blue and silver in the west. He recognized King Fingolfin himself, then saw the king gesture the same stopping command. As if pre-arranged, Fingolfin and Maedhros left their guards simultaneously and rode to meet each other.

When the banner of blue and silver was flying together with the banner of magnificent flames, the dark-haired king looked at the copper-haired prince, full of sincerity and appreciation.

'A perfect victory.'

Maedhros lowered his head to the King of the Noldor with unquestionable courtesy. 'The victory belongs to the Noldor.'

Fingolfin nodded. 'As long as we maintain our friendship and alliance, the glory and victory will always belong to us.'

The king was right.

Long peace. Tedious peace. At least in the East, this was what it was. After Dagor Aglareb, Morgoth seemed to recognize the wariness of Maedhros, and thus turned his nose to the west. Hithlum was once assaulted by Orcs coming around Ered Lómin and crossing Lammoth from the west, but Fingon who was in charge of Dor-lómin had gathered the information before they arrived, and set a trap at the exit of the Firth of Drengist. A brilliant battle - only part of the troops in Hithlum were involved, while the enemies were all driven into the cold sea. Later, the peace in Ard-galen was broken again by an evil creature that had not been seen in the world before, the fire dragon Glaurung, in the Noldorin language called Uruloki, the Fire Serpent. Again, Fingon the Valiant, Prince of Hithlum, defeated it along with his archers on horseback, and drove it back to Angband.

He heard of these feats. It was indeed a pity that Morgoth had not tried these tricks in the east. In those idling days he often rode out of the north opening of the Pass of Aglon, and looked over the green Ard-galen from either the near Dorthonion or the hills of Himring, knowing a siege from three directions was formed. Fingolfin and Fingon in Hithlum on the west, Angrod and Aegnor in Dorthonion on the south, and the sons of Fëanor on the east. _The Siege of Angband. _It seemed that the Noldor succeeded in putting Morgoth at bay by their courage and strength, and what his father claimed in his speech at the high court of Tirion had been verified.

_...Unclouded sky. Sweet water. Wide lands. Free people_.

_Everything is under control, isn't it?_

Except for the Shadow in the North. But now the smoke above Thangorodrim was so thin that he could barely see it with his keen Elven sight.

And he was not the one who carried the responsibility of evaluating the situation properly and establishing strategies accordingly. _Someone has taken that painful work from me. _He had no need of thinking about the future in this peaceful time, nor had he the need to worry. In these serene days, the shadow of Morgoth was the least that troubled him.

..._We must be still living on the same land, under the same sky. Middle-earth, Beleriand._

He released his horse to wander freely in the wild, and then sat down near Huan. In the cold wind blowing out of Himring, the hound's warm body certainly offered some comfort.

When again hunting became the most popular entertainment among the royal folk, everyone, whether smart or foolish, would be able to see the meaning of peace.

The forests and fields in the south of East Beleriand turned out to be where he would regularly visit. Those were lands of Amrod and Amras. The twins were placed far from enemy lines to avoid direct battles, which was the arrangement of their elder brothers. _A brotherly consideration, everyone knows that. _Amrod protested once, and his image brother chimed with him; but Maedhros only looked at them for a while without saying a word, and then smiled.

'You will be in charge of those lands, because you suit the needs there. If I didn't make any mistake, you two are great hunters among the Noldor.'

'No better than Turko,' said Amrod. And Amras took over. 'Why not Turko? - He even has Huan for aid.'

Their eldest brother's smile deepened. 'Because he is needed here. He knows the languages of birds and beasts. Precious information can come from them. This has been proven.' Then the smile died away. 'The rear is as important as the front, Ambarussa. We need the confidence of knowing that the lands behind us are secure.'

The two young princes exchanged a look, shrugged, then conceded to be persuaded.

He happened to be around while they were arguing, and Maedhros' words made him suddenly want to laugh. _Are you joking, my brother? I thought you don't need anyone but yourself. - Maybe, Findekáno and his house also._

_Findekáno and his house…_

He turned abruptly and left, and called out Huan aloud at the gate. Himring was forever cold, for which he even felt grateful at this moment.

In peaceful time as nowadays, riding with Amrod and Amras or Caranthir and Curufin in the wild of East Beleriand, with beautiful open lands in sight, the only pity would be that sometimes they might meet their cousins from Nargothrond. He himself did not have too much prejudice or grudge against Finrod, but Caranthir obviously had no will to conceal his scorn and hostility toward the House of Finarfin. Even though Finrod was always polite and generous in those encounters, from time to time they still parted on bad terms.

But that was not too bad. They could also go to Thargelion, the land of Caranthir. On the shore of Lake Helevorn where the mountains of Rerir and Lindon joined stood Caranthir's fortress. In fact Curufin was more interested in the land of Caranthir, for it was closer to the cities of the Naugrim, Belegost and Nogrod, hidden in the mountains of Lindon. Compared to hunting Curufin preferred exchanging knowledge on forging and smith skills with the Dwarfs. Caranthir had no favor at all for Dwarfs with them being merely a 'strange-shaped' race in his eyes. But Curufin, as one of the best craftsmen in the Noldor, inherited most the talents from their father and spoke highly of the achievements the Dwarfs made on smith work. When he was in Himlad, he often spent time learning from the Dwarfs, and even taught them the language and lores of the Noldor. Of all the Noldorin princes he was probably the one who kept closest friendship with the Naugrim. It was true that their eldest brother also maintained friendship with the king of Belegost, Azaghal; because Maedhros once saved his life when the dwarf king was ambushed by Orcs on the Dwarf road. It was said that Azaghal gave his own Dragon-helm to Maedhros as a token of appreciation, but later Maedhros passed it to Fingon as a gift of friendship. Nevertheless it was still Curufin who had more in common with that stunt and tough people, especially with the great Dwarf craftsman master Telchar in Nogrod, the maker of the Dragon-helm of Azaghal. The Noldor profited from those adept skills from the Dwarfs, and the Dwarfs were amazed by the tempering techniques on weapons from the Noldor.

Thus they paid more visit to the land of Caranthir. Sometimes he and Curufin would go directly from Himlad, or Caranthir would come to find them, and the three brothers would travel together. In Thargelion they were unrestrained in their pursuits; he could hunt with Caranthir, and Curufin could meet his dwarf friends conveniently.

When the messenger from Himlad arrived at the fortress of Rerir he was practicing swordplay with Caranthir, and Curufin and Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, were sitting nearby, examining a knife made by dwarfs. The son of Curufin inherited the talents from his father almost perfectly. He was still young in age, but already famous among the Noldor for his craftsmanship. The knife was a new masterpiece of Telchar the dwarf master in Nogrod. It was sent here as a gift, and its name was Angrist.

'Lord Celegorm, we reckon that you would like to hear this important message as soon as possible.'

'Tell me then.' He twisted his wrist swiftly, diverting a powerful blow from Caranthir. His younger brother reacted immediately. The sword flashed an arc blocking his attack, at the same time threatening a counterstrike.

'There is an unexpected guest in Himlad now, my lord. Lady Aredhel arrived alone five days past, with no other guards.'

With a clang his sword flew from his grasp. Not anticipating winning so easily, Caranthir was obviously more confused than excited; and Curufin finally looked up. As usual, Curufin seemed not to pay any attention to what happened around, yet never missed a single word from the messenger.

'...Isn't she staying with Turgon now?' He said unconsciously, feeling his heartbeat slow down for a second, then suddenly speed up. '...In a hidden city nobody knows?'

'Lady Aredhel is indeed from the Hidden City, my lord. She said she came to see you, her brother and old friend.'

Like all the water in Lake Helevorn was splashed on his face, he suddenly felt icy cold.

Brother. Friend.

_She intended to say these words. She must have intended to say them. She is telling me, 'Although I come to see you, there is nothing different than before'._

'Then I think we should prepare to go back to Himlad.' Curufin stood up casually, took the knife from his son, and set it on the belt at his side. His voice was soft and serene; whether knowing him or not, one could never guess from his words what was on his mind.

'...Wait.'

He hardly recognized his own voice. Curufin raised one eyebrow slightly and expressed his surprise in a most appropriate way; but Caranthir was still busy wiping off the sweat from that combat, paying no heed to what he said.

'Why go back in such a hurry?' Having successfully gathered some self-control he said in a light-hearted way. For a moment he even wished that he were from the House of Fingolfin, because then at least he would not have needed to summon all his will to appear indifferent. 'Did you not plan to see the Naugrim from Belegost, Kurvo?'

For a while Curufin only looked at him ignoring this rhetorical question. Just before he got annoyed by the stare Curufin broke the silence. 'My brother, I think you know Ar-Feiniel? She might not have the patience to wait.'

_It actually would be better if she didn't have it,_ he thought bitterly. _But what if she does? _If one wants revenge, patience is mandatory. She had been waiting so long that her patience had gone far beyond his expectation. Finally she was here, reminding him of her existence, yet instead of proposing any change she emphasized the past - a past that was unpleasant for him, and that he doubted was pleasant for her. _So she is forcing me to face her. But for what?_

He could not go back. He could not go back at any rate.

A guard picked up his sword for him, and this gave him an opportunity to conceal his nervousness. He took the sword and set it back to the sheath in one graceful move. 'She won't mind. Have you forgotten? She is our friend.'

Curufin raised his eyebrow again, but remained silent this time. And he turned to face Caranthir, feeling much relieved to speak to this brother. 'It was an accident that I lost, Moryo. I want another contest. I do not want a reputation for having been defeated by a younger brother.'

Caranthir snorted. 'You've never won so far, Turko. Nor will you in the future.'

'Really? Never so assertive, Moryo.' His lips curled up. Next moment his sword was pointed at Caranthir's chest. As the laces on his brother's tunic falling down broken into two, he gradually formed a smile that was far from a righteous one.

When Caranthir realized what had happened his face darkened. 'No tricks, Turko!'

He gracefully moved his sword away, full of mockery. In a second his brother drew his own sword and stared at him intensely. After a brief moment of silence, the clanging and scraping rang again in the room.

Watching them for a while, Curufin shook his head slightly and then left with Celebrimbor without making a sound.

Thus he and Curufin stayed in the fortress of Rerir. Time passed relentlessly; the late spring became a blossom summer, and the summer turned to a golden fall. When the cold winter arrived, nobody in Rerir doubted his reputation of a hasty-riser. He lost more composure everyday, and even the slightest incident could set him ill at ease. He was crueler and crueler in hunting and trickier and trickier while practicing swordplay with Caranthir. 'Lord Celegorm is indeed Lord Caranthir's brother,' When later Curufin told him about such comments among Caranthir's people, he was too lazy even to sneer. _Are they too stupid or too bored?_ _What is so interesting in making an issue out of some long-known fact?_

Then came the day when he lost control in an attack during swordplay and left a scratch on his brother's forearm. But what happened afterwards was inexplicable even to himself. For he was the one who got furious and blamed his brother with abandon; while in every sense that role should have belonged to his brother.

It was not too difficult to imagine what happened next. Caranthir's temper was no better than his. If Curufin hadn't been informed and arrived in time, the consequences could have been disastrous and might even have made Morgoth laugh in his dark dream. That night he lay on his bed in his own room, staring at the decorations on the ceiling, his mind filled with nothing but pure emptiness. When his brother came in silently, he was not surprised at all.

'I won't apologize.'

'...I didn't plan to ask you to, my brother.'

Curufin's words were a little unexpected to him. Turning his head, he saw his younger brother standing in the middle of his room with an expression that was difficult to interpret. _Maybe this is actually my most dangerous brother, _he thought. _Compared to Curufin's calmness Caranthir's wrath is much easier to deal with. Which one are my own people in Himlad more obedient to, my temper, or Curufin's words?_ But almost immediately he dismissed such thoughts. At least Curufin hadn't done anything against him so far.

'My brother, do you remember what I said to you long ago, near the lake of Mithrim?' He didn't answer, and obviously Curufin didn't expect him to answer. 'I said, I hope all your decisions in the future will be as right as in Mithrim. But this time, the consequences of your decision do not seem very convincing to me.'

'That is none of your business,' he replied harshly.

'In some sense, it's true.' Curufin stepped back and then turned to leave. But before the door was closed, his voice rang again.

'Just take it as some wishful advice from your blood-bound brother.'

The sound of the door closing might have been gentle to other people's ears, but it was harsh enough to him. Turning his head back, he focused his eyes on the ceiling again, until those decorations began to blur and fade, and finally blended into Irmo's domain.

The fields in the Light of the Two Trees were stretching to the end of the horizon. Various and sundry sorts of flowers sprinkled in the green grass, in which hooves thundered and were almost fleeting like wind.

'...I think I like leopards better. They seem to be more graceful than lions.'

'That is also reflected in their language. But I have to tell you that those two leopards thought you could not be a good hunter. They said your appearance is too conspicuous.'

She laughed. 'Maybe they are right. But some habits are just habits; I don't want to change, and I also cannot change. ...Then what next? Another riding contest?'

'You know you cannot win.'

'But how could I have any chance if I wouldn't even try? ...Wait. Look there, a swan!'

'...Are you sure?'

He looked up with her and found she was right. There was indeed a large swan with white wings and a graceful long neck, so striking in sight that nobody could make a mistake. But he knew their nature. It was definitely not common for them to appear in the fields of Valinor.

Raising his chin, he called that proud bird in a language she didn't understand. After a pause he repeated, and she took note of the difference between the two calls.

'Why did you use different tones?'

'Last time I had the accent of the Noldor.' He explained while still gazing at the white bird that was now circling down towards them. 'He's not accustomed to it. He is from near the sea, Alqualondë.'

'Then he must be one of those given by Ossë the Maia to the Teleri.' She jumped off the horseback deftly; the silver ribbon that fastened her dark hair into one braid flashed a bright arc in the wind. 'Ask him why he came to Valinor.'

'I'd rather ask him where his mate is.' In a flicker of time he was beside her. 'A swan is usually in company with its mate, if it has chosen one.'

The swan landed in front of him, flapping its wings slowly and gracefully. He nodded to it, and made a gesture; it curled its graceful neck and responded with several long calls. She stood aside watching, a little surprised to see his change - the pride, the nearly tangible pride, disappeared without a trace.

'You look strange.' She remarked.

He gave her a side look. 'What is so strange?'

'You look almost amiable.'

'That's not strange at all, Irissë. If you come to understand them you would know what they require of you. It is respect.'

'No. What I meant is: it is so strange that when you are amiable, you seem to be truly neither rhyme nor reason.'

He took a deep breath as if he were deploying all his self-control. Then he turned back to the swan as if it were the center of Eä. Knowing that he took offense she smiled mischievously and remained standing behind him until he finished.

'What did you say to him?'

'If I were indeed neither rhyme nor reason, why would you even care what I said to him?'

'...What did you say to him?' She asked again ignoring his sarcasm. Knowing her well, he knew she would not compromise. He sighed. 'He's looking for his mate. He has searched the sea side, and now he is planning to cover the whole of Valinor.'

'...He lost his mate?' Surprised, she put aside her pride. 'How could that be?'

'Apparently he doesn't know. Therefore I don't know either.'

'Then what if he's unable to find her?'

'He'll continue his search. Swans are like us Eldar. Husband and wife, once the bond is made it will never be broken.'

'But we are not absolutely following that rule. - Otherwise I would not have existed.'

He did not reply at once. Instead, he reached out to the big white bird, which now seemed so lonely and deserted. He paused for another while. '...For the House of Fëanor, it is absolute. That's the only rule my father set for us.'

Then they both fell silent. After an uncertain amount of time she suddenly walked past him and dropped to one knee in front of the swan, looking into its eyes. When she spoke her tone was serious, even solemn. 'I believe you will find her. No matter how much effort it will require, or how much time it will take.'

_...You will find her. No matter how much effort it will require, or how much time it will take. ..._

The temperature suddenly dropped. A mist was rising, and soon it blocked all the light. Darkness was everywhere around him; penetrating cold was attacking him from all directions. It was not some ordinary cold. It seemed to have its own life, built out of malice and cruelty, infiltrating the mind and numbing all thoughts. In this coldness, all hopes seemed to be fading into the distance, and all warmth withering into emptiness.

Just like the Long Night of Valinor. Just like the Dark he once encountered outside the walls of Formenos.

_What is this place?_

Instinctively he reached for his sword, only to find it was not there. Yet he could not sense any threat alive. All that was around him seemed to be still and silent. No sign of life at all.

Little by little his keen Elven ears began to catch some sound out of this deathly silence. So strange, yet so familiar. That was the sound he had heard on the white ships at Araman, but it was faint and remote, being overwhelmed by the howling of winds.

The screeching, rolling, and crashing of ice. Grinding Ice. Helcaraxë.

For a while he was totally lost. _Why am I here?_

Some dim light enlightened his sight, cold and clear. He realized the thick clouds above rolled aside temporarily, leaving a gap revealing stars in the dark sky. He took one step, and then found himself standing in the snow of knee depth. On this boundless barren ice, he was the only figure alive.

Helcaraxë. Grinding Ice.

But he never experienced that hard journey. _...How can it be so real?_

The snow seemed endless. Tremendous icebergs and treacherous ice walls filled his sight. Just when he tried to start moving again, his ears captured some other sound. Some sound that should not have existed here.

The thundering of hooves.

He was surprised. The sound was fast approaching, so fast that the speed exceeded all the best horses he'd ever known. Even the white courser Rochallor his eldest brother gave King Fingolfin would be no comparison to this one.

He looked back abruptly, seeing a white mare emerging from the dark night and galloping like the wind, the rider's cloak flapping in the cold air as white as snow. No time for him to react, in a second the horse was already near at hand, and the rider did not even show the slightest sign to restrain it. In spite of himself he closed his eyes, and then a thought came across his mind like lightning tearing apart dark clouds.

_...It's her. After so long a time, she finally got her chance._

At that moment he completely lost the will to dodge or escape. _If you want to punish me for my betrayal, then go ahead. Anyway you've been hoping to do so ever since you were a child, haven't you?_

The next moment he did not feel the impact of hooves cracking his skull. Instead he heard the sudden whinny of the mare. Opening his eyes, confused, he saw the white mare standing right in front of him on its back legs. The rider tightened the reins at the last moment.

Some understanding assailed him. Without consideration he jumped aside from the falling hooves and dashed forward, then quickly grabbed the reins and dragged the rider down with her waist in his arm. _Yes, it is her._ He knew. He had known since the first glance.

And this time, he would definitely no longer take her as that little child.

The hood of her cloak fell off. Her dark hair was flying in the freezing wind, brushing his face and blinding his eyes. His arm was still around her waist, but the feeling was no longer the thinness and frailty of a little child. Her waist was slim, but also sinewy; he could feel the muscles well toned from her riding and hunting, and he was impressed by the strength and harmony coming from their firmness. She didn't try to shake his arm off. In a seemingly endless moment they were standing still as stone, until he felt a hesitating touch on his face, cold and hot all at once. Then, as if some resolution were finally reached, the slender fingers poked his dark hair and slid past his ears, the strong yet graceful arms went around his neck, and closed to a tender embrace.

He shivered. He thought this must not be true. Holding his breath he summoned all his courage to force himself to look into her eyes, but it was so strange that he did not see her. He saw himself. His own image in her eyes.

A beast fed up with conflicts and struggle. A_ fëa_ almost torn from the _hröa_ by unbearable pain. _Pride. Love. Ambition. Loss. Shame. Desire._

He couldn't bear to see it any more. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, drove all the strange thoughts away, then pulled her close, and lowered his head.


	5. The Unforgiven Part II

_**Chapter 5. The Unforgiven - Part Two**_

_For the first time_

_in a long time_

_Everything was right in my world_

_And then I woke up..._

- **Dream Theater**, **A Fortune in Lies **from _**When Dream and Day Unite**_

Suddenly he was drawn back to reality as if the link between the two worlds were severed by a sharp blade. Sitting up abruptly he struggled to focus his eyes, but when he finally regained his orientation a wave of uncontrollable trembling took him.

In front of his eyes there was only darkness. In his hands was only air.

He bit his lips hard. The taste of his own blood swelled in his mouth and made him dizzy. Again he closed his eyes almost desperately, wishing to escape from this reality. All that had happened was still so vivid as if it were real, her warmth still on his chest, and her curve still in his arm. Unconsciously he raised one hand and let a finger brush across his lips; and he was instantly overwhelmed by emotion, some emotion of which he never thought he was capable.

Loss, anger, and sorrow. Frustration, helplessness, and bitterness. They came in a stream converging into a tremendous eddy, in the center of which he struggled like a leaf.

_...If that were a dream, if that were merely a dream, how could the feeling left on my lips be so real?_

He could not think any more. Thinking was neither his habit nor his expertise. Jumping out of bed he grabbed some clothes and threw them on in a rush without consideration for either the look or the fit. When he rode out of the gate of the fortress of Rerir all he brought with him was his sword, the sword his father made for every son in the house of Fëanor.

He must go back, whatever he would have to face.

In the darkness before dawn his white stallion galloped across the land of Thargelion like lightning, and the loyal Huan followed him as always.

After a journey for a whole day and a whole night he came back to Himlad. When he appeared in front of his own house before the first light emerged in the east, his people were indeed surprised. But he did not bother to speculate what they were wondering at. A question had burst out even before he tried to dismount.

'Where is she?'

He knew even as an Elda he still stretched his strength. He did not make any stop on the way, and he could feel a true and heavy weariness building up in his flesh. But he ignored it. In the first light of the morning his eyes were blazing, fierce like a burning fire.

'You mean Lady Aredhel, my lord?'

The guard's easy tone almost made him lose control. For a moment an urge nearly took him, the urge of seizing and shaking that stupid elf and shouting some sense into him. Yet he only dismounted. It was one of the very few moments in his life that he restrained his temper successfully.

'Correct. Didn't you send to Rerir saying she's here? ...Aredhel Ar-Feiniel.' _Would you ask me next if I am referring to the White Lady of the Noldor?_

'Lady Aredhel is gone.'

He froze. Reins still in hand, all the consciousness seemed to have abandoned him, leaving in his mind pure blankness. Unaware of his reaction the guard continued, the clear Elven voice sounded so far away and so unreal in his ears.

'...It was the day before yesterday that she decided to leave, just before dawn. My lord, there was nothing we could do to change her mind, although we did try.'

_...The day before yesterday. Just before dawn. But when did I have that dream? ...How could it be so real?_

'But this is not the first time she left alone. Lady Aredhel had been saying that the life here was no different from the boredom in the Hidden City. She often rode to the forests and fields in the south alone, because she does not like being protected. And she always came back fine. So we believe this time it will be no different.'

_...You fool, it will be different. It will never be the same again._

'...Lord Celegorm?'

He was called back to reality by a gentle touch. That was Huan, his loyal friend. Inhaling briefly he realized his hands holding the reins were trembling. Maybe he used too much strength. _Maybe..._

Without saying a word, he turned and mounted again. 'Let's go,' he said to Huan shortly, then spurred the stallion going straight towards the south, leaving the shocked guard and the exhaustion from the previous journey behind.

..._You will find her. No matter how much effort it will require, or how much time it will take. ..._

He searched indeed.

He searched every inch of his land. But she was not there. She seemed to have somehow evaporated, leaving no trail of her existence in Himlad. He asked all the birds and beasts he met on the way. He sent to Amrod and Amras, even Caranthir, inquiring of news about her. But the answers were all the same. No news at all. She had never been to Thargelion, or the forests in the south. Finally he even had to wonder if all of his people had fallen into some strange enchantment. How could she have come? She should have stayed with her brother in a city nobody else knew. At least this had been what he had learned before. How could she have suddenly gone out to look for him, alone, after he had betrayed her in Losgar and refused to show any regret for that betrayal?

But his heart told him, she had been there indeed.

In his extensive search he once passed Nan Elmoth. But he never expected to find her there. The Sinda residing in that valley preferred to deal with Dwarfs, and never showed any favor for the Noldor. And she was definitely a Noldo.

_If I had known she was there, I would have taken her back at whatever cost. If necessary, I would have summoned all the troops in Himlad. I could have erased the whole Nan Elmoth, and I wouldn't have even cared about another kin-slaying at all. And, 'kin'? It must be a joke. Who's kin to that Dark Elf?_

_If I had known, if I could have known..._

When he finally had to admit his failure and give up searching, his mind appeared to be torn into two unrelated halves. One was struggling and screaming in memories and dreams, the other was filled with uncaring coldness and composure.

_I should have gone back. I should have gone back as soon as I heard about her. The fact that she came to look for me was already beyond imagination. Why did I not trust her? Why?_

_You are deceiving yourself. You know it. How long do you plan to remain struggling in lies? She had never brought you what you truly desired. As for this time, did she not destroy your pride again and leave you only pain and confusion? It is nothing but her perfect revenge._

The two voices managed to merge at some point.

_Now you know what you should do. You've gained some experience._

But why was it still so difficult when you were merely following an established routine? If experience could be the anesthesia why isn't there even the slightest numbness?

Nearly thirty years of the Sun passed. When he received some strange message in his own house in Himlad, he was sitting behind a big oak desk completely bored. Supposedly he should have been handling many everyday issues; but he would rather trust his younger brother in those trivia. It was enough that he should make important decisions, while there were not too many important decisions to make in peaceful days.

'Lord Celegorm, we have two unusual guests. According to them they wish to see you, but they would not reveal their identities.'

He raised one eyebrow. His interest was aroused.

'Would you grant their visit, my lord?'

_Why not?_ He had no worry about assassination. It was definitely not easy to kill a son of Fëanor, which had already been demonstrated by their eldest brother. Not to mention he had his sword at his side and he was confident to make very good use of it upon need.

'Of course. Let them in.'

Soon his guard brought in the guests. Across the desk he examined them with curiosity, and besides the gray Sindarin cloaks and the low hoods covering their faces he noticed that their postures were both proud and graceful, a sign that would not be mistaken. _These are not ordinary people_, he judged. _Maybe not royal, but definitely noble._

_Nobles of the Grey Elves?_ For a moment he frowned. Thingol never showed too much favor towards the Noldor, and the House of Fëanor in particular had always been loathful to the King of Doriath. _What do these nobles of the Sindar want from me?_

Just at that moment some strange foresight fell upon him. With no clear reason the one standing in the front drew his attention. Those eyes behind the shadow of the hood made him suddenly uneasy, and he found himself staring at that one, unable to move his eyes. He knew that he was being rude. But courtesy was out of his concern.

'Celegorm, it has been so long.'

He jumped up, so abruptly that his legs collided with the edge of the desk with an audible bump. But he hardly felt any pain; in fact all the feelings seemed to leave him all at once. His breath stopped unconsciously, and he found himself unable to move. Right in front of him the elf took off the hood and threw back the cloak in a single graceful move. The snow white was released from the bondage of deep gray, so bright that it was almost blinding in the sunlight of midsummer.

Then those eyes met his again.

'...Irissë.'

He uttered that name instinctively, as if it were always right at his lips. _Her name._ It was her. It was indeed her. How could he have convinced himself that he had forgotten her? Didn't he see her in his dreams again and again? Now she was here. Beautiful as in his memory, with nothing possibly changed.

_...No._

His sense began to return. _Something is different._ She called him by his Sindarin name. _Maybe this is the reason_, he thought. It felt strange to hear this name from her, as if it were a sign indicating an end of all that had happened in the past.

_...End? Has it ever begun?_

But if the answer were a simple no, how could that dream be more real than any truth he had learned?

Her voice pulled him out of those wild thoughts. 'You look unchanged. Yet there shouldn't have been any change anyway.'

The magic dissolved. Her words reminded him of another time, when they met each other again in the fields of Valinor after a long separation. Those were exactly the same words she said to him. And that was the time she rejected him with mockery, although later the mockery became apology. And he refused her apology with pride, although the pride was marred ever after.

_Do not deceive yourself any more. That was only a dream._

He straightened himself and recollected some composure.

'...You too.' Then he glanced at the one who had been quietly standing behind her. Her companion took off the hood at the same time as she did, but his attention had been fully drawn to her. In the sunlight coming through the window stood a young dark-haired elf, with a standard appearance of a Noldo. Probably not fully grown, but already tall and strong - the young elf looked almost handsome had his skin not been so pale.

He did not recognize him. But he was not troubled at all. It was definitely not his obligation to remember every single servant in the House of Fingolfin. Raising his chin to that boy, his eyes were still fixed on her. 'Your guar-'

'No, not just my guard,' She interrupted him at once. 'This is my son.'

In the beginning he didn't understand what she was saying. Those words sounded irrelevant and meaningless. But as the understanding grew his blood rapidly turned cold, and for a moment he believed he heard the sound of it freezing in all the veins. He stared at her, and under his gaze everything started falling into place. How could he be so blind and careless? In her eyes he saw the shadow of it. In her voice he heard the echo of it. A permanent bond, unbreakable and everlasting, life or death, together or apart, until the end of Arda, until the end of days.

The bond he had wished to vow to her.

While she refused him relentlessly then and gave it to someone else now, even without bothering to inform him as a friend and brother.

He looked at the young elf, then her face again. Her expression was not strange to him, proud and stubborn, challenge in her eyes. Suddenly he found himself separated from the world. He could no longer feel, for something had set a shield between his heart and this reality, like smoke wrapping around fire.

'Celegorm, this is...'

He interrupted her. 'Wait, Aredhel. If I want to know someone's name, I should ask him directly.' Watching her closely, he even managed a smile. '...which is the polite way.'

_Do you see it? I have not forgotten._

Without warning, the memory of that dream flashed across his mind, clearer than ever, more real than ever. A choking pain thrust his chest like a spear, on the point of which lay his heart twitching and twisting, doubting how one could still be so vulnerable when he had already been denying so long. _Because it's true, only too true. Otherwise why could you never convince yourself that it was only illusion? Why could you never forget?_

She stared at him in disbelief, and a complicated expression went across her face. He could not tell its meaning; surprise, hesitation, compassion - no, not exactly. _Not compassion. Then...regret?_

Another voice broke the silence.

'Lord Celegorm, my name is Maeglin.' The young elf's voice did not really match his age. Deep, melodic, and persuading. For some people, such a voice itself could be power, which he had both heard of and witnessed. His father, and his second elder brother. Although Maglor's speech was nothing special, but his songs definitely were.

Not until then was he aware of the boy's eyes. The boy must have raised his head while speaking. But almost immediately he found himself hating those eyes. Dark eyes that did not belong to Calaquendi, yet extremely perceptive and penetrating. A simple glance, any unguarded thoughts would be picked up, and any secrets buried not deep enough would be spied out. He hated those eyes. He hated even more the one who had them. _You shouldn't have existed,_ he thought. _You shouldn't have existed. _In the scarlet wound just torn open in his heart, those sharp dark eyes planted dark seeds.

'My father is Eöl of Nan Elmoth.'

_Eöl?_

Dark fire sparkled silently, licking the redness around.

_That Dark Elf who hid in the dark forests in Nan Elmoth, famous for being hostile to the Noldor and brewing trouble all the time?_

_No. It could not be. ...You shouldn't have existed. You shouldn't have existed._

Yet he maintained a surface composure. He did not learn nothing from his younger brother in these years. 'Then it was your father who sent you here?'

'No, Lord Celegorm. On the contrary, we disobeyed him this time.' Then the young elf gave his account of the story, simple but precise, with perfect logic and flow. They wanted to go to see their kin, the House of Fëanor and the House of Fingolfin. But they were always forbidden to do so. Several days ago Eöl accepted the invitation from the Dwarfs and left for Nogrod to join the feast for the summer, so they decided to take this chance to return to the Hidden City. However, the servants of Eöl were always watching them closely, and to leave Nan Elmoth they had to tell them that they were going to find the people of the House of Fëanor. Thus their whereabouts were actually known by others, and Eöl's own horse was faster than theirs.

His eyes never left hers while the boy was speaking. Those words flowed past his heart like cold creeks, calming the urges and cooling the flaming mind. Feeling the dark fire slowly stopped spreading his face softened. _Didn't I make a mistake? So you want to escape from your...then have you regretted?_

She did not flinch. On the contrary she raised her chin and tightened her lips, as if she knew what he was thinking about. _...You are wrong. Once you said the House of Fëanor would never change their hearts. Now I say for the House of Fingolfin it is the same. I choose to leave for the freedom of my son and myself. It does not necessarily reflect my heart._

He read her mind. _She did not set any guard around them_, he thought, _because she wants me to know_. Instantly the dark fire rose up whirling and blasting, like a flame that had been retreating suddenly met new fuel as aid.

_So this is your real_ _revenge, Irissë. But_ _this way, this way..._

He never knew how he had managed to be so calm and unperturbed. Even the disturbing eyes of that young elf were set aside at this moment. 'As my kin you will definitely get good horses here. Actually, ones that are the best.'

'Thank you, my lord.' The young elf lowered his head with unquestionable courtesy.

Behind the desk his hands tightened into fists, until all the joints of fingers turned pale. _You shouldn't have existed. You shouldn't have existed. _Yet he heard his own voice giving orders to his guard, so calm as if nothing had happened. 'See to all the needs of Lady Aredhel and...Maeglin. Now.'

The Noldorin guard who had been waiting silently at the door nodded, and then opened the door for her and her son. She did not move at once; the same complicated expression went across her face again. But he did not react to it. Although he was still looking, everything in his sight seemed to be scattered, like fragments neither logical nor meaningful. Indifferently he watched her turning and going, seeing she hesitated for a second at the door but still refused to look back. Then her son left after her.

He watched until the door closed behind them. Before the faint sound completely disappeared his sword was already in hand. Teeth clenched, a familiar urge overwhelmed him. His heart was screaming silently in the dark fire, and once again he understood what his father must have felt when making the decision of rebellion. They both lost the most important things in their lives, while the only difference being that in the madness of rage and grief his father believed they could achieve their vengeance, but he knew clearly that what he wanted had completely fallen out of his grasp, and to regain it there was indeed no hope.

In this chapter I offer my interpretation of Celegorm's delay in Rerir while Aredhel was waiting in Himlad. According to _The Silmarillion_ Aredhel had resided in Himlad for months before she got lost in Nan Elmoth.

Aredhel and Maeglin's visit of Himlad was not recorded in _The Silmarillion_. The story here referred to _HoMe 11_, in which Celegorm not only offered good horses but also a promise of 'other aid'.


	6. The Unforgiven Part III

_**Chapter 6. The Unforgiven - Part Three**_

_It's come so clear to me_

_Light fuse and get away_

_No gain, no pain_

_It's a fatal game_

**-Dream Theater**, **Light Fuse and Get Away** from _**When Dream and Day Unite**_

When the door opened again it was Curufin that entered. His younger brother did not speak right away. Looking around carefully and seeing all the mess around the room, Curufin finally turned to him and raised one eyebrow, while he sat behind the desk unmoving, his sword still unsheathed in his hand.

'...They are leaving.'

'I know.' He replied harshly. _I don't need you to remind me. I was the one who let them go._

'And it is said that you ordered that they be given the swiftest horses?'

'Yes.' _What else could I do? Kill that insolent whelp and force her to stay?_

Curufin went across the room to stand in front of his desk, while carefully keeping his feet away from the shards, as some of them were sharp enough to bring harm. 'My brother, I suppose you've heard of Eöl?'

_...That Sindarin bastard._ 'Do not tell me you've never heard of him!'

'You should not direct your wrath to me, my brother.' Curufin's tone softened, which was usually a dangerous sign. 'That was your own decision.'

He did not retort. He knew Curufin was right.

'But if you do know something about Eöl, you must also know that he will not give up easily.'

He looked up. His eyes met his brother's.

'My brother, do you prefer to face him yourself, or let me deal with it?'

Curufin's voice was gentle; but he could sense the sublimated malice. Suddenly he understood what Curufin meant. An icy cold wave washed over him, not fear, but cruel excitement. The pleasure of sword lunging into flesh. The warmth of blood spilling on hands. For a moment he almost imagined himself driving that villain out of his nest in Nan Elmoth. That elf who had never seen the Light always blamed the Noldor as kinslayers, and he, as Celegorm Tyelkormo Turkafinwë, the third son of Fëanor, never denied it. Given this fact, of course he would not mind being worthy of such a reputation again. Anyway he could never remember how many elves he had killed in Alqualondë; why should he care too much about one more? Not to mention that this one was not even akin to him.

Just at that moment some foresight fell upon him. _You do not need to do so. You have a better choice._

'...You should go.'

Curufin looked at him not turning a hair, waiting for him to finish.

'If he dares to come, stop him. Question him. Mock him. Insult him. Only don't kill him.'

This time Curufin's eyes grew wider. Apparently these words were not quite as expected. '...Reason?'

He stood up, sheathing the sword slowly and carefully. The metal did neither ring nor scrape, and the feeling on the fingertips was a smoothness as that of silk that almost concealed the blood thirst of the fatal weapon. The bright sunlight in the summer shone through the window, plating a golden crown on his dark hair.

'He always says that the Noldor are kinslayers. Maybe sparing his life can help him improve his impression of us.'

He knew Curufin did not believe him. His brother must have understood his true intention, for there was a meaningful smile on his face when he left.

And he also had to see to something that must be done.

He found her near the gate. She had mounted along with her son, and was ready to leave. Upon his command they had given her the swiftest horses, which he knew could run as fast as wind. …_if there is no accident._

She nodded to him a greeting, and he only smiled. _Maybe smiling is not so difficult after all._ Walking up he murmured some words to the horses in turn, and seeing her questioning look he smiled again. 'A few words to address their obligations.' _Am I lucky? Huan is not around._

'Remember what I told you, Maeglin?' she turned to her son. 'Lord Celegorm knows their language. In fact he knows animals better than he knows people.'

The old jest did not actually have the same effect on him, and he had to pretend a reaction of truly being offended. 'Aredhel, I do not think that is any praise.'

'Indeed not,' she admitted with an ironic smile. 'But true nonetheless.'

He did not argue with her, as it seemed that he was distracted by her cloak. The gray cloak woven by the hands of the Sindar, renowned for its diverting effect from undesired eyes. Picking up a corner of the fabric he examined it briefly. 'Aredhel, with these horses you do not need to wear this.' With an absent wave of his hand the cloak fell back. 'It is not your preference. Even when you were judged by those leopards as 'cannot be a good hunter' you still did not plan to change your habit.'

'Lord Celegorm, please forgive me, but my father is not careless.' the young elf interrupted. 'It's no harm being cautious.'

'We will not give him any chance to prove his care.' Seeing the expression on their faces his lips curled up. 'No, not like what you are thinking about. We will only delay him long enough for you to reach your city.'

She looked at him, and the third time in this day did he see that complicated expression in her eyes. In the time of an eye blink she dismounted and came up to him, and before he could even react she had given him a brief hug and kissed him on the face. 'Turko, ..._hantale_.' (1)

He stood still, for a while completely lost. He heard her instructing her son to take out her white cloak, and he watched her throwing the snow white he had been extremely acquainted with around her shoulders. He watched her mount, saw her nod to him again, and then under her command the horses started heading out. As they passed the gate of Himlad there was a moment he was almost perturbed. He wanted to cry out to call them back, with the hope of an opportunity to alter his decision. But he did not. In the cold wind blowing out of Himring the touch of her lips on his cheek diminished and dissolved.

Their horses would begin to neigh aloud when they reached their destination. And her white clothes would be the most remarkable sign.

Then, Eöl would pick up their trace and eventually find them.

It was Curufin who went forth to complete the last piece of work. His younger brother left the Pass of Aglon for the Fords of Aros, and Eöl indeed arrived as expected. The riders of Curufin waylaid that Dark Elf and took the so-called Lord of Nan Elmoth to their prince, and Curufin dismissed the Sinda perfectly as planned - he humiliated him mercilessly, but did not kill him.

'In the end I suggested he go back to his dwellings in the dark forests,' Curufin told him after returning to Himlad, with a complacent smile on his face. 'I told him, if he now pursues those who love him no more, never will he return thither.'

'...So in this way you actually solidified his determination of going after them?' frowning he asked Curufin out of an unknown concern; his brother's words were somehow disturbing to him.

'For that one, it is the only possible reaction.'

Curufin's answer was resolute and decisive. There was no reason for him not to trust his brother's judgement. But after Curufin left he found himself still dwelling upon those words. _...If to pursue those who love you no more is a way of no return, then, to retaliate against the one who loves you no more..._

Several days later, in the darkness before dawn, he suddenly woke up. There was no nightmare, but he was filled with cold and choking loss, from every drop of blood to every piece of flesh. _Something is wrong. _Opening his eyes wide he stared into the darkness, until a voice merged into his consciousness and invaded his mind, like a ghost easily crossing the invisible barrier between dream and reality.

_You indeed know little about people. And that is why I am the one who comes to bid you farewell._

For a second his heart stopped beating. Cold sweat instantly covered him, and he shivered, extending his mind frantically to search the white figure buried deep in his heart, which he had tried so hard to forget. Yet everything seemed to be fading and withering, like relentless waves washing the shore. He searched almost desperately, struggling to cling to the voice once so vivid in his memory. At least that voice..._You will find her. No matter how much effort it will require, or how much time it will take._

But he never found it again.

Nan Elmoth lay in the south of Himlad. After crossing the fords of Celon he reined his horse, looking afar at the valley and the dark forests, his face blank as if covered by a mask. Having followed him was the hound of Valinor. Huan had shaken off the water silently, and now stood near his side.

'Take a rest here. Do not go too far though.' He dismounted and tapped his white stallion's neck. The silver-gray mane slightly brushed over his hands, and his horse lowered his head and obeyed. Snuffling lightly the horse started walking to the meadow near the bank.

He looked up and surveyed the forests again. Even from a distance he could still sense the ancientness of it. The trees of Nan Elmoth were the tallest and darkest in all Beleriand, and there the sun never came. It was said that in ages past Melian the Maia walked in the twilight of Middle-earth when they were young. It was in this place that she met Elu Thingol; and it was in this place they gazed at each other while long years passed which could only be measured by the wheeling stars.

_A charming tale. But it's a tale only._

Silently he reached a hand into his cloak, and the familiar metal was resting quietly at his side. He was dressed in a manner as an ordinary Noldorin hunter. No armors, only a bow and arrows without the emblem of his house, and a plain cloak without any luxury embroidery or lace. The only thing unusual would be his sword. But he hid it carefully under his cloak, knowing that it would not be easily noticed.

Even now he was still uncertain about what he intended to find in these woods. He knew Eöl was not here. His guards never saw that Dark Elf returning from the west. _Just as Curufin said, a way of no return._

…_But what about me?_

A sudden pain assaulted him, and his fingers tightened unconsciously, pressing hard against the gems on the hilt. Cursing himself again he struggled to forget, while knowing it was in vain. _You cannot forget. You do not want to forget. Because you loved her, you fool, you truly loved her. ...Just because of your love, you attempted to send her to death. Not once, but twice. You failed at first, but finally you succeeded._

He took a deep breath. It would not help to reduce the pain, but it did help him to concentrate. Journeying from Himlad all the way down here, he did not only seek to be engaged in some wild thoughts. He had something to do.

Turning back, he called the hound. 'Huan, you too stay here waiting.'

The hound looked up at him without making a sound, but doubt and anxiety were in his eyes. He knew Huan's concern. But nothing would change his determination. 'Stay here.' He repeated. 'I know what I'm doing.'

The hound obeyed. Yet he could still feel the gaze from behind when he set out, until he entered the darkness of Nan Elmoth in the luxuriant branches and thick bushes.

He did not know how long he had walked. Trees were towering over him from every direction, some he was familiar with, while others were even unknown to him. In the forests the sun could not penetrate, time seemed to freeze. When his eyes became accustomed to the dim light he found those branches and leaves dancing in a hypnotic rhythm, slowly and strangely. From time to time he could hear the song of nightingales, but his elven hearing could not help too much with that distant and blurred tone.

_Maybe the tales are true. There is some magic remaining in this forest._

His steps must have been louder than he had thought, or he must have underestimated the agility of the residents here. When a Sinda in black suddenly appeared in front of him he was indeed surprised. He did not anticipate confronting the servants of that dark elf so fast, but he restrained himself in time from reaching for his sword.

'You are a Noldo.'

The Sinda made his judgment almost immediately. It was conspicuous anyway, especially in the darkness. - His eyes. Those were the eyes of Calaquendi, the eyes that had seen the Light of the Two Trees.

'I came here after my quarry, but now I think I am lost.'

He replied. Even Curufin would admire this natural act.

The Sinda examined him for a while, and his appearance seemed to be convincing enough. 'Then follow me. I'll lead you out. But next time do not be so reckless. Today you should count yourself as lucky, for Lord Eöl is not back yet.'

_Lord. Who granted him such a title of lord?_ 'I heard that the Noldor are unwelcome in Nan Elmoth. Now it seems true.'

'If Lady Aredhel were here things might be a little different. For she herself was a Noldo.' The Sinda turned and brushed away a curtain of vines, and revealed a hidden trail in front of them. The elf started walking towards it, and gestured him to follow. He followed. 'But she is not here, and she would have to obey Lord Eöl in this.'

_Obey? Had she ever obeyed others? What did that dark elf do to her?_ 'If I didn't make a mistake, is the one you just mentioned Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of the Noldor?'

It was more and more difficult to control his tone. He had to call upon every nerve to resist his natural urges, forcing himself to remain calm.

'She once was. But here she is only Lord Eöl's wife.'

'...You mean, Lady of Nan Elmoth.' His heartbeat started going wild.

'...You can say so. But she must follow Lord Eöl's rules. She cannot go to sunny places, and she cannot leave here alone.'

He closed his eyes. The white figure riding freely on the plains of Valinor had been trapped in the narrow dark valley, withered and dimmed.

'No.' He said abruptly, before he realized what he was saying. 'No.'

The Sinda looked at him and emphasized coldly. 'That is the fact, Noldo; for she didn't come to Nan Elmoth on purpose. Lord Eöl met her, and she stayed.'

In the shadows that the sun could not penetrate and in the woods where the ancient magic still lived wandered the white figure, lonely, astrayed, and confused, but not afraid. Why should she be afraid? She was of the House of Finwë. She was always fearless.

In the darkness shimmered cold dark eyes. In the pupils darker than night reflected the wandering white star. First surprised, then conflicted, and kindled with desire in the end.

'...No. She couldn't have thus chosen to stay.' Despite all his effort of disguise he said stubbornly. 'She couldn't have been willing to stay.' He repeated, holding on to the last hope, just like the drowned holding on to anything he could possibly grab, however trivial.

'As you may say.' The Sinda shrugged, but grew a little impatient. 'But Lady Aredhel couldn't have been unwilling.'

His hand slid silently under the cloak to the hilt. _Do not continue. I don't want to listen any more._

'Otherwise she would have died, which is the nature of the Eldar - '

The Sinda did not finish his sentence, and he would never have such a chance any more. The shining dark mails were no different than a thin layer of parchment paper against the making of the mightiest craftsman of the Noldor. The sharp blade ran through them easily, penetrating accurately past the ribs and into the heart.

'I don't want to listen.' He said softly to the falling elf whose eyes were already unfocused; then he withdrew his sword with a jerk. The warm blood sprang out to his fingers and wrist, and several drops even spattered onto his face. 'She could not. I told you that.'

The hound was waiting in the last light of the day. When a breeze came out of the valley he sniffed at the air vigilantly, then suddenly filled with unease and anxiety. Standing up tensely Huan stared at the silent forests; little by little, a figure emerged from the dim background. The faint clank of metal echoed rhythmically, and the ordinary cloak flapped in the wind; yet these were not why the hound was nervous and concerned.

Huan saw the marks of blood.

The hound rumbled. The prince stopped in front of him, and his eyes met with Huan's. They looked at each other; in an immeasurable moment they held each other's gaze, until the hound chose to compromise at last. Huan had never seen his master and friend like this, not even at Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans.

And he fell to his knees right at that moment, holding the hound's neck tightly, the wet fingers digging into the thick fur.

'I cannot believe it, Huan, I cannot believe it. ...She couldn't have lived. She should not have lived...'

The hound shuddered. For a moment the hair around its neck all stood up. But finally it lowered its head, allowing drops of liquid to fall onto its back, both transparent and red. The sunset painted a cruel dark red on them, the thick color of blood, like a fading fire.

Fire.

Not the fire they had known for ages, the fire from forges, ovens, and fireplaces. After the long peace in a cold winter night without moon, Morgoth suddenly unleashed his accumulated strength. The onrush of the evil fire spread and surged everywhere, soon engulfed the luxuriant green grass and sweet waters in Ard-galen, and lit up the forests on the highland of Dorthonion and Ered Wethrin.

Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame.

This was already the fifth day since the fire was lit. The Orcs of Morgoth were swarming like an endless dark tide, and the whole Siege of Angband was being fiercely attacked. The enemies were striking the fence of the Eldar like relentless waves; the corpses had piled high out of the Pass of Aglon, but there was no sign to stop.

Even as he retreated from the battlefront he got the report from the east. Glaurung the Urolukí, Father of all the dragons, the Golden Terror, assaulted the weakest link of the March of Maedhros. The Gap of Maglor was lost, and all the lands between the great and little rivers of Gelion were turned into ravages under the dragon fire. Maglor was falling back to the fortress of Himring to join Maedhros.

_So the mercy of your dear cousin and friend put us into big trouble, my brother._ He thought impatiently. _If it were us who had gone to attack this monster, perhaps we could have cut its head off and made it for you another Dragon-helm._

Ill. All the tidings he had got since the war started were ill. Although the great fire and thick smoke over the mountains and plains blocked his sight, he could still make a good guess about what the two young sons of Finarfin in Dorthonion were dealing with. And for him the luck was no better. Curufin and he had tried their best defending the Pass of Aglon, and so far they had been successful and enemies had paid dearly; they would not have stood so long had he not immediately ordered archers up the cliffs around the pass when the attack started. He would not always count on his luck as an experienced commander.

He mounted again. From this spot he could see clearly the battlefield at the northern entry of the pass. Five days. These evil creatures had never given up until a moment ago. It was by the foes' temporary retreat that the Elves won some time for reformation and rest. He still remembered Orcs screaming and rushing despite the rain of arrows and stones, treading the corpses of their own kind with no care at all. Even he himself was inevitably involved in some close combat. As ever, Huan guarded his side, and their tacit cooperation buried countless foes.

Now he looked at the quiet northern entry, recalling the battle in the previous days, suspecting that Morgoth had given up the attempt of taking this place. _I am not Maglor. It is not so easy to defeat me._

At that moment he suddenly sensed the abnormity. _Quiet. Too quiet._

Then his eyes told him what mistake he had made. He saw the Balrogs emerging out of black smoke, shadow and fire, the greatest nightmare of Elves. In a moment the howling of fire whips rang from both Dorthonion and the northern pass, his warriors were slaughtered like falling leaves, and he was unable to send them any aid.

His younger brother hastened back with blood and ashes all over. Yet before Curufin spoke another urgent cry interrupted.

'Lord Celegorm! The fortress of Rerir has fallen. Lord Caranthir is retreating to the South.'

His eyes met his brother's. _Then the hope of any reinforcement is gone._ The confidence in the previous hour was shattered by the cruel reality at this moment, and there was no choice for him but retreat.

'Prepare to retreat. We cannot hold this place only by ourselves.'

He should have felt bitter. This was his failure, a stain on his pride. But he found himself indeed indifferent. _Is it so unusual? You've already tasted the flavor of failure. Many times. You've lost to your eldest brother. You've lost to your ...friend. Losing to the enemy would only be another item on the list._

His herald approached him. 'Lord Celegorm, which road should we take?'

'Head west.' He answered flatly.

'But then soon we'll arrive at the borders of Doriath, while King Thingol...'

'Then turn to south, follow the boundary of that damned kingdom!' _That should be exactly what we choose, fool. At least we are certain that nobody will come out of Doriath to attack us._

Thus they retreated. Along the borders of Doriath, away from the realm protected by the power of Melian. They went through woods and plains and crossed the river of Sirion; he knew the kingdom founded by their cousin of the House of Finarfin was beyond, the kingdom of Nargothrond.

When the water of Narog came into their sight, they heard the warning.

'Halt, and identify yourself.'

Countless elven archers revealed themselves from the woods, with cold light flashing on their sharp arrowheads mounted on the tense strings. They bore the golden emblems of the House of Finarfin, and in fact the elf in charge was golden-haired.

He did not reply. _There is no need to reply._ The banners of the House of Fëanor were flying high behind him, the chromatic flames dancing in the cool wind; even stained with blood and dirt, they were still dazzling in the morning sunlight.

It was his herald that answered. 'You are speaking to the people you should have welcomed with proper manner. The two in front of you are from the noblest house of the Noldor, and your King, King Finrod Felagund, is their close kin. - Lord Celegorm and Lord Curufin, heirs of _King_ Fëanor.'

Even if disagreeing with the last sentence, the captain of the House of Finarfin did not show it. The golden-haired elf gestured, and his following lowered their bows. 'My lords, please forgive our offense.'

'Take us to your King,' Curufin replied, in his ever gentle tone.

Led by the golden-haired elf they entered the hills of High Faroth and crossed the rapid Narog. Their elven sight allowed them to see the beautifully designed and well-hidden doors on the western bank, behind which countless caves lay. Nargothrond it was called, which was said to be built by the hands of Dwarfs based on the nature of the terrains and following the design of Menegroth in Doriath. They saw Finrod Felagund standing in front of the great gate, a silver crown shining on his golden hair; the eldest son of the House of Finarfin appeared a little pale as if he had lost much blood, and later they learned that if not for the aid of the mortal Barahir of the people of Bëor, the King of Nargothrond would have doubtlessly perished before the Fen of Serech.

Then he saw their cousin's smile. Noble yet warm, like a camp fire in a dark night.

'Welcome, my kin. For you Nargothrond's gate is ever open.'

* * *

I have been wondering why those horses had neighed aloud and thus betrayed Aredhel and Maeglin, especially after I read the version in _HoMe 11_, in which these horses were provided to them by Celegorm. And here is the explanation I worked out.

Celegorm's later visit to Nan Elmoth is not recorded in any formal accounts. It was my creation.

(1) Quenya, 'thank you'.


	7. Sad But True Part I

**_Chapter 7. Sad But True - Part I _**

_I'm in the valley  
And the saddened chimes I hear  
Race towards the wall to find  
one more name appears  
_

**_Dream Theater_**_，**Killing Hand V. Exodus**__，from **When Dream and Day Unite** _

He was alone when in the corner of his eye he caught a dark figure in the bushes.

When he rode out of the hidden fortress of Nargothrond he only took his bow and his sword. As his horse trotted through the city he found himself spreading unusual silence everywhere, for he saw that clusters of the residents here had been whispering among themselves before they spotted his presence.

_Curufin should be the one who worries about this_, he thought, holding his head high. Meeting straight all the gazes he stared back coldly and proudly, until one by one they lowered their eyes.

But his surface composure did not deceive his white stallion. The horse had known him too long and too well. Before the gate of Nargothrond his gait was deliberate and calm, but as soon as they left the sight of others he paced up and gradually accelerated into a gallop, a wild rhythm blending into the ever graceful and stable steps. As the hooves beat the ground hills and creeks were flashing behind, and his dark hair was caught flowing in the chilling wind. Yet his face was stern as stone, rage and bitterness sparkling in his eyes.

By now Thingol still had not sent him any reply. As time went by it became more and more plain that the old Elwë Singollo of Doriath protected by the power of his wife would not grant his request. Elu Thingol held his daughter the precious over all the precious, and would not give her hand to others easily. There was no doubt that the two current suitors had set him beyond rage - one a mortal he had ever overlooked, the other a Fëanorian he had ever loathed.

He wanted to laugh, but found himself lacking a sense of humor at this moment.

_Whether Thingol grants it or not, what difference can it make? She is not here any more. She has fled out of my hands. _

And she took Huan with her.

He clenched his teeth. Taking this hint the stallion sped up again. Along the road everything seemed to be backing up rapidly, while withered woods in the late winter and broken patches of snow in the barren forests were furling like a turbulence of dark brown and pale white. He did not notice when the sun disappeared behind thick clouds, but the gray hue suddenly set him to wonder whether he was continuing a pursuit doomed to fail.

She was found missing in the morning by his younger brother.

This was the first time in his life he saw Curufin lose his self-control. 'It was your dog's did! He aided the daughter of Thingol to escape!' roared his brother in a tempest of rage. When he asked whether Curufin was referring to Huan, his brother stared at him in disbelief. 'Do you have another _dog_?'

But how could Huan have possibly done this? Wasn't he always aware of Huan's thoughts? Of course he knew that Huan had favor for the daughter of Thingol. He also knew that Huan disliked his decision on this matter. But Huan had been loyal to him. It was for him that the hound of Valinor rejected the Blessed Realm and chose the path of exile, following him like his shadow all the way, regardless what he had done. Alqualondë. Araman. Losgar. Even in Nan Elmoth Huan still provided him comfort and support. How could Huan have left him merely for the daughter of Thingol to rescue a base mortal he had even never known?

Yet the fact was undeniable. The daughter of Thingol was gone, and so was Huan. As soon as their absence was discovered he mustered his own guards and led a pursuit with the rest of the hounds, but he found no trace of them. This result was not surprising to him. Huan was not an ordinary hound. It was unrealistic for even a seasoned hunter like him to beat Huan in a pursuit when the hound was already far ahead. A strange numbness silenced him on the way back, but it did not avail too long after he finally returned to Nargothrond.

His brother was waiting for him in his chamber. The wrath had obviously passed, for Curufin regained his usual composure. 'Your dog has obviously devised it for a long time, my brother.'

He frowned. A dull headache distracted him. He did not sleep well the night before, for that dream would never leave him in peace.

'It did not succeed in aiding the daughter of Thingol by luck. It had found her cloak and returned it to her. I suppose you still remember that cloak? - And it carefully chose a secret passage that is unknown to most.'

Now he was certain about the headache. _Then Huan, it was not that she took you, but that you took her._ The insult from the shocking betrayal and the bitterness of the previous failed pursuit roared up in his mind, but before his rage could vent his brother's words cut in like a sharp blade.

'And I'm wondering, my brother, - how did your dog unlock that door?'

_Curufin does not mean to have my answer_, he thought blankly, _because he has already known_. Instinctively he held his head high and prepared himself for any possible rebuke, but Curufin did not speak as he expected. His younger brother only turned and walked out silently without looking back.

The daughter of Thingol escaped. The key to Doriath disappeared along with her. _And Huan is with her, in fact leading her._ There was no doubt that they would go to the Tol-in-Gaurhoth where Sauron dwelt and the founder of Nargothrond and that mortal were trapped. _They will probably die in this hopeless quest_, he thought, struggling to force himself to be cold. _But will they? ...Will they not?_

_Whether they will or not, I'll simply let Curufin worry about it. _

Indeed Curufin showed great ruling senses and talents. All the rumors on the departure of the daughter of Thingol were handled and covered so delicately that even the Fëanorians hardly knew the truth. With all under control he and his brother still openly scorned the authority of Orodreth, and the golden-haired prince's resistance was proven to be no more than feeble and weak acts against his powerful kinsmen. _Let her go._ Watching the Prince Regent in Nargothrond leaving with a stiff back bent by their wills, and the people that once gave their allegiance to the House of Finarfin standing tame and quiet in the Hall, he thought. _I do not need Doriath. ...I do not need you as well, Huan. You are merely a dog. Without you, Nargothrond is still in my hands. _

Yet every time upon the nightfall he found himself unable to stop listening to a voice deep in his heart. _Do not forget: everything you've done so far has led to an unexpected end._

It did not take too long for the foreboding to show its signs. First news came from the borders that suspicious creatures were found attempting to enter the lands of Nargothrond; then later more reports verified it in greater detail. But right when he judged it to be another plot of Sauron to spy on Nargothrond and troops were ready to be sent to solve this problem, the reports completely changed. These suspicious creatures were not servants of Sauron. They were elves, their own folk captured by the enemy during Dagor Bragollach and the Sack of Tol Sirion. They escaped from Sauron's dungeons, because a beautiful elven maiden and a brave hound challenged this cruelest and most evil servant of the Dark Lord. They defeated him and drove him away, and the island once defiled by sorcery and werewolves was now clean again.

And the story did not simply end there. These previous prisoners and slaves of Sauron claimed that Finrod Felagund was not killed upon his capture by Sauron. They said the eldest son of Finarfin strove with Sauron in songs of power before the dark throne, and although defeated in the end he was not identified, but thrown into a deep pit along with his ten valiant guards and that mortal. Nobody knew what had happened there; but Finrod Felagund had not long passed away before the elven maiden who revealed herself as daughter of Thingol rescued that mortal.

Nargothrond was shocked. The official announcement from him and his brother of Finrod's death and their rights over the kingdom conflicted with these tales in every aspect. Rumors spread like wildfire, and guesses and speculations rose like an endless tide. Several times he himself even overheard some pieces of careless conversations, from which one did not need any imagination to learn what their discussions were about - 'But hasn't Lord Celegorm fallen in love with Lady Lúthien?' 'It might well be the reason why he would not aid King Finrod and Beren.'

Although he could still snort at this ridiculous gossip, as time went on some came indeed close to the truth. The daughter of Thingol certainly knew who were trapped in Sauron's dungeons. Lord Celegorm and Lord Curufin, whom she had trusted and who had brought her back to Nargothrond, must have been aware of her reasons of leaving Doriath. The sons of Fëanor chose to lie upon King Finrod's death and claim the kingship. Such an act constituted another fatal betrayal to their kin. Even if they could argue it was not their intention, the fact that they had not made any attempt to rescue their cousin would still prove their cowardice, that their courage was no match even to a beautiful elven maiden.

He had no evaluation for the impact of this gossip on he and his brother. He only knew that the whole city was mourning Finrod, and wherever he went he saw them whispering, his own people included. _Say whatever you see fit, fools._ When finally someone was stupid enough to blurt it out in front of him, he was too lazy to even issue any rebuke. As a renowned hasty riser he did jump up, but instead of venting his temper he simply went to find his horse and announced he would go for a ride without guards. When he mounted and rode out he neglected all the concerns they raised, regardless whether they truly meant it or were only posturing.

_Fools. You expect me to go to rescue Finrod, the biggest fool of you all? If I had commanded you to risk your own lives in an attack on the isle of werewolves, would you all have been satisfied by now? …Cowards. You dare to call us cowards. Merely by words Curufin set so great a fear into your hearts that since then you have forsaken open battles and turned to stealth and ambush, wizardry and venomed dart. Who are indeed the cowards? And have you forgotten who fought at the borders and prevented Sauron's werewolves and beasts from crossing Talath Dirnen? Instead of appreciating our efforts to spare your lives, now you want to say we are cowards? If you are so eager to die, may the evil fire of Morgoth fall upon you all! _

The reckless curse called some sense back into his flaming mind. Morgoth was their common Enemy, and he had no intention at all to bless any victory to the Dark Lord. Instructing his horse to slow down he inhaled heavily; but before he could relax his keen elven sight caught a dark figure flashing past in the woods.

In the blink of an eye his bow was ready. But before he strung an arrow he realized the queerness. His white stallion did not react nervously; instead the horse relaxed and sighed, as if he had recognized an old friend.

Then he knew why. The dark figure re-entered his sight. This time it did not avoid him, but calmly emerged from the dappled shadows of the trees. When it stood in the middle of the road he met those eyes, the eyes with which he was once so acquainted.

Huan's eyes.

For a moment he almost jumped off the horse's back and held his friend tightly in his arms; it was true that he had decided he would not be troubled by Huan's departure, but not until this moment had he realized that he had never succeeded, in truth he had never even forgotten. When a bond like this had already been etched both in his _fëa_ and _hröa_, how could he manage to undo it? All the attempts and efforts only buried it deeper and deeper, until it turned into constant dreams and memories.

But he did not make a move. Hand still holding the bow, he remained with perfect composure, his eyes against the hound's eyes. He could almost hear the crackling of the soft spot in his heart being scorched in bitter flames, and his pride and accumulated anger finally availed.

_So you are back. She does not need you any more? Or do you finally grow tired of her? _

The hound did not avoid his cold stare. In the dim light Huan's eyes shone like clear crystals, reflecting both sorrow and dignity, but no regret.

The hound was still bearing wounds. He saw the new scars, half buried in the thick fur. _How could you be so stupid to challenge Sauron with only that weak elven princess? You…_

But in the end he only turned his horse, and dropped a word behind. 'Fine. Come with me.'

He would never admit that he was truly grateful to hear Huan's steps breaking the half-melt snow.

The return of Huan did not bring further tumult to Nargothrond. At least this was how it appeared. He assigned his servants to take care of the hound's wounds, but when he turned to leave he could feel the hound's gaze. For some unknown reason the gaze troubled him so much that when he passed Curufin's room he did not understand the words he heard at first.

'Father! …Tell me, is that all true?'

According to the volume the young elf was almost shouting at his younger brother. The door was closed, and thus he could not see his brother's face; but from what he knew about Curufin, he was certain that his brother must have shown neither excitement nor anger as if his face were covered by a mask.

'Celebrimbor, what you've heard are rumors, valueless and useless. There is no evidence to support them.'

He did not slow down but walked straight past. It was his brother's business to persuade the youngest prince in the House of Fëanor. He had neither the will nor the energy to intervene. No doubt Celebrimbor inherited perfectly the stubbornness and pride of their house, and thus it was certain that the young elf would not easily obey the orders of his father and his father's elder brother.

When he sat down in his chair near the window he did not intend to rest. But while the day waned his consciousness started to wander. For a moment he thought he heard some faint noise in the deep halls far away, but it only lasted a short while. As if an intangible hand were guiding him, he advanced in emptiness and darkness, not knowing his destination; but to some degree he anticipated to see her from behind, dressed in her usual white and silver. Being prepared for the pain he found that it subsided with less difficulty than in the past; but he was troubled by her appearance. This time the white figure was blurred, as if being washed away gradually in the river of Time. _Can a fire so proud and stubborn eventually burn out? …Or in fact I would never know, because it has never been the same as my own, but the fire of the House of Fingolfin after all, covered in a cold crust while burning in the same heat?_

Then she turned around.

He gasped, and his eyes flew open. For a second he could not breathe, his heart beating wildly, half because of surprise, half because of fear.

That was not the face he had anticipated.

That was the daughter of Thingol, Lúthien the fair, the most beautiful of the Children of Ilúvatar.

Right then he heard a knock on the door. To his surprise the door was opened in the next moment without his acknowledgement. When he jumped up with all the justified anger ready to blame any intruders, he found himself facing four unfamiliar faces. They were not his own guards, not even his own people.

'Lord Celegorm, King Orodreth requests your presence in the Hall.'

When he strode into the splendid hall of Nargothrond he could not help but suspect that all the people in the city were summoned. Most of them were of the House of Finarfin, and the rest were the following of Fëanor that came here with him and his brother. But their different allegiances did not affect their common understanding of one fact - they were all silent. Intimidatingly and threateningly silent. When he walked through a narrow passage left for him among the crowd to the high seat at the other end of the hall, he could not determine the meaning of their gazes, but could sense their intensity and strength.

Light was leaping on the stone walls decorated by the Dwarfs, and the grand hall was filled with deathly stillness. He saw his younger brother; even though as surprised as he, the favorite son of Fëanor did not show it. Standing under the dais of the throne, Curufin Kurufinwë Atarinkë did not trouble himself with all other gazes but only looked at one - the one standing in front of the seat, a silver crown shining on the golden traits of the House of Finarfin.

_…Finrod?! _

_No, not Finrod. That is Orodreth, King Orodreth_. Now he remembered. The four insolent guards said 'King' Orodreth. A sarcastic smile crept to his face. If Orodreth had thought a crown on his head could make him King, he must have lost his mind. The second son of Finarfin seemed to have gathered all the weakness in that house in his character, and had ever been a lesser shadow of the eldest: not as noble, not as wise, - if Finrod could be considered wise, - not as proud. He never took Orodreth as a serious threat. This golden-headed cousin was even not nearly as good-looking as Finrod.

Therefore he did not understand why Curufin could tolerate this one standing conceitedly there with a crown on the head. With that same sarcastic smile he started walking towards the throne; but as soon as he reached the dais the Prince Regent and Steward of Nargothrond spoke.

'Celegorm, you have no right to stand here.'

_Something is wrong._ Out of the corner of his eye he caught movements nearby, and immediately realized that those were elven guards, fully armed. They did not make any further movements, but their positions and vigilance were enough warning to a seasoned warrior like him: he had better not act carelessly.

Not until now had he looked straight at the golden-haired prince he had always scorned. He could not remember when they last met each other; and thus he found the one in front of him was totally different from his memory, as if he had been reborn and reshaped. Still unlike Finrod in appearance, but Orodreth succeeded in showing Finrod's pride - the pride Finrod had demonstrated when throwing the crown of Nargothrond to the dirt. The second son of Finarfin had never been so fierce and firm that even he, Celegorm son of Fëanor, had to admit that Orodreth was completely a Noldorin prince regardless what heritage he indeed had.

His younger brother spoke then, gentle but not less threateningly. 'But Lord Orodreth, what right do you possess to justify your status here?'

The golden-haired prince raised his chin in conceit. 'I should have stood here before, because my elder brother Finrod, King of Nargothrond, trusted his kingdom to me when he left. Now I stand here again, because my brother is gone, and the ones who conspired against him do not have any right over a kingdom my brother founded.'

Curufin raised one eyebrow. 'Who are the ones that conspired against him?'

Orodreth did not flinch. 'You, and Celegorm your brother.'

All of a sudden a tempest of sound rose from the crowd and washed the hall, the previous silence was utterly broken. Among all the turmoil he made out one familiar voice. _So, Curufin has persuaded him. _

'Is there any evidence?'

The young elf's voice rang clearly in the hall above all the noise. The son of Curufin paled, but still straightened himself and walked to his father, standing with him side by side. 'Lord Orodreth, it is too cruel a statement to make so easily.'

'I'm afraid we have a powerful witness, Celebrimbor.' Orodreth answered, without looking at Curufin and Curufin's son. When he suddenly realized the golden-haired prince was looking at him, a rage from the insult took him.

'What do you mean?'

Orodreth looked at him strangely, an expression between pity and disgust. 'Celegorm, I think the honor of this witness is undeniable even to you.' Turning abruptly the golden-haired prince stepped aside; and then he was forced to acknowledge what these words meant.

Huan padded out from behind the throne, his paws did not make any sound on the smooth marble floor.

He did not hear all the following accusations issued by Orodreth and supplemented by those miserable and pitiful elves that had escaped from Sauron's dungeons. He knew all must be true. - Except the part about his love towards the daughter of Thingol; but for this he would never intend to clarify, for the rumors were better than the truth. _And truth or not, why would it matter? _He only stared at Huan, for he had never expected this day.

_Is it true that all that I wish to have and keep is doomed to be lost in the most unimaginable manner? _

The hound acknowledged all the accusations against him and his brother. Huan did not speak but only nodded, although it was widely known that the hound of Valinor was allowed to speak three times in his life. _Very well. You probably think it is a waste to use your precious chances on us; or you still have not possessed the courage to rise against your master._ He stared at Huan, while the whirling rage in his head made the cries and shouts that struck his elven hearing like a black tide almost unreal and remote.

'They bite the hands that feed…'

'Punishment for betrayal...'

'Blood for blood…'

'King Orodreth! …Justice!'

'Execute them!'

Instinctively he reached a hand to his side, and then realized he did not bring his sword. Without the cooling of the sharp metal the rage almost overwhelmed him. _Fools, fools! Who have guarded your borders? Who have protected you? Now you say we bite the hands that feed, what about you? Are you any better? - Who completely rejected their King? Who willingly accepted our rule? What justice can you lay upon us? _

Orodreth raised a hand. The angry and excited crowd slowly calmed down seeing the gesture. When the new King of Nargothrond spoke his voice was neither high nor loud, but this time it sounded firm and confident as of a King.

'King Finrod Felagund was my eldest brother. It was he who granted these two to abide here. For Finrod could forgive those who ruthlessly murdered my mother's kin and never regretted with blood on their hands. Finrod took them as his guests and allowed them to take shelter in his own kingdom. Finrod tolerated them stirring his own people to reject him. I would not be surprised if Finrod would eventually extend them forgiveness had he learned that they plotted his death.

'But I am not Finrod.

'Celegorm, and Curufin: I would not suffer my people to slay you, for the spilling of kindred blood by kin would bind the curse of Mandos more closely upon us. But neither would I allow you to stay; no bread and rest would Nargothrond grant to the traitors! Leave, and leave soon; there shall be little love between Nargothrond and the sons of Fëanor here after!'

_I would not stay in this stupid city even if you had not said so. _He raised his chin, fell and proud. _The day shall come that you realize what mistake you have made._ 'Let it be so!' He answered in the most graceful manner he could gather, while nobody could mistake the menace in his eyes.

But Curufin did not speak. His younger brother simply followed him out of the hall, with a smile on his lips.

Not until the time of departure did he find Celebrimbor's absence. He did not spot the young elf in the crowd that silently watched their leaving either. He looked at his younger brother, and as usual it was impossible to see through Curufin's forever calm face. But regardless how little he might know about people he was still wise enough not to ask about his nephew at this moment.

_You all betrayed us. You were our people, the people of the House of Fëanor. You fools, you think you could escape the curse thus? I say no, you cannot. You shall not only bear that evil curse, but also this doom I add - the Doom shall find you before me, and you shall be defeated utterly because of the one you trust and support. For treason, this is the price! _

He mounted, his spear near the saddle, his sword at his side, and his bow on his back. The wind stirred the crimson cloak he had chosen deliberately and revealed the Star of Fëanor on his chest. _Curse you all. Curse this city you are so proud of._ Having no will to see those hateful faces he spurred his stallion to gallop through the gate. He crossed the creeks he crossed many years ago when he first came here, and he went over the hills he once went over; he did not slow down until he was certain that the hidden fortress was out of sight.

Right then he noticed Huan. The hound followed his horse silently, like a sad ghost. This time the sighting did not strike him. Staring at the hound he clenched his teeth. _Why do you come again, after causing us to lose everything that had been so close at hand? - The key to Doriath. The crown of Nargothrond. The only heir of the House of Fëanor after we seven brothers. You feel the damage is still not enough?_

Aware of his dangerous gaze Curufin urged his horse to catch up with him. His brother never granted any look to the hound, as if it had never existed. 'Brother, now where are we heading?'

'...Himring in the North, or Amon Ereb in the South.' He hesitated before he answered. Now the strength of the House of Fëanor lay mainly in these two places. Their eldest brother Maedhros still held the fortress of Himring and the land nearby, with Maglor there too; while Caranthir, Amrod and Amras retreated to the South and founded their camp in Amon Ereb. It seemed to be a simple choice, a choice from two; but Himring would require the obedience to Maedhros' commands, while Amon Ereb would only mean the twin brothers that always loved him. - Actually, Caranthir as well. The brother who did not love him as much but meanwhile was wise enough not to attempt standing against Curufin and him.

'Then I'll suggest Himring.' Seeing his hesitation clearly Curufin's lips curled up a cunning smile. 'My brother, our eldest brother has the right to know what happened in Nargothrond, and what aid Finrod had planned to offer that mortal.'

His younger brother was always so marvelously shrewd. He almost forgot. The Silmarils. Finrod had wanted to help someone other than the sons of Fëanor to retrieve a Silmaril. His eldest brother would never overlook this. And once they had Maedhros' permission they would have the full support of the remaining strength of the House of Fëanor, which meant nearly half of Noldor.

'...…Himring.' He repeated and nodded. Compared to this tolerating Maedhros' commands became bearable enough.


	8. Sad But True Part II The End

**Chapter 8. Sad But True - Part II (the End)**

_The sea is calling me_

_My spirit must return..._

_I laugh at what I've done_

_I am the Killing Hand_

_**Dream Theater, **__**Killing Hand V. Exodus, **__from __**When Dream and Day Unite**_

Then they set out northwards. Without guards they had to choose a route both short and safe to minimize the chance of encountering the enemy. Although they were both sons of Fëanor and mighty princes of the Noldor, feared highly by their foes, they were only two in number - plus a hound, if he could be still counted. They would need to go eastward through the Guarded Plain and thence head north along the borders of the forests of Brethil. After crossing the river of Sirion to Dimbar they would follow the northern borders of Doriath.

He did not know that someone trod the same road from Dimbar to Himlad many years ago. Even if he had known he still would not have believed that this journey was doomed. When they spotted the two from a distance, which afterwards he always believed to be a mere coincidence, he was truly surprised. Even from this distance he could still recognize the daughter of Thingol. The shadows under the thick forests of Brethil weakened neither her beauty nor her brightness, and the one at her side -

'Kill that mortal and take Lúthien.' His brother's voice rang suddenly. 'Doriath will still be ours. And Nargothrond will learn of their mistake and pay for it.'

He heard that Huan had suddenly halted. The hound did not make any audible protest, but he knew for certain that Huan was displeased by the proposal. A cruel pleasure took him. Huan's disagreement made up his mind.

Curufin drew closer. 'We are riders, and they are on foot. We can easily do it, my brother. - All you need to do…'

'I'll deal with that mortal.' He snapped. 'And, I don't need you to advise me.' Without waiting for Curufin's reply he urged his horse. He did not take Curufin's suggestion when he issued his attack; on the contrary he rode past Beren and turned back intending to ride that mortal down. As a rider he already had the unquestionable advantage in battle. A sneaky attack from behind against a mortal was too much for his pride to bear.

Even as his eyes met Beren's he heard Lúthien's cry, thus knowing Curufin must have taken her onto his horseback. And suddenly all changed.

What happened in the next moment turned out to be a nightmare. He did not know where the mortal had summoned the strength, but in an eye blink Beren disappeared from his sight, and when he finally reined the horse and turned in haste Curufin had fallen off and was wrestling with Beren on the ground, struggling to release himself from the hands that had closed around his neck. In a glimpse he noticed the daughter of Thingol lying on the grass not far away and Curufin's horse neighing frantically near her. But he did not have time to think, because as he watched Curufin's face started turning purple in suffocation. As if all the blood had rushed to his head he jerked his spear off the saddle and urged his horse to charge towards Beren's undefended back.

A terrible roar rose from behind.

His horse was startled and swerved suddenly, and then reared up on his hind legs neighing. Caught off guard he almost lost his balance and had to loosen the spear and grab the mane instead; but before he steadied himself he had seen clearly who blocked his way.

Huan.

Again. Huan.

'Get out of my way!' He roared. 'Get out! - You are my dog, not his!'

_...It will not be so here after._

The hound did not flinch. This time there was no sorrow in his eyes, but only wrath and unspeakable disappointment. Like a fire burning in anger Huan roared again and moved forward and his horse backed up hastily in fear, would not advance an inch however he tried to command and urge him. With the last bit of patience worn, his anger overtook him. With a clear clang he drew his sword.

'You, both of you, shall pay for the betrayal today!'

But neither of them paid any heed. Even at his curse.

'...Stop, Beren!'

A voice cut in, fair and clear. He turned instinctively and saw that the daughter of Thingol had got on her feet. Seeing the mortal strangling Curufin she rushed to his side and grabbed his arm, while Curufin's resistance grew weaker and weaker. 'Do not kill him. His life shall not end upon your hands.'

Her voice called some sense back into the mortal. Tightening his lips Beren unwillingly released his hands; when he spoke his voice was harsh and cold. 'You are right, Lúthien. But he shall not leave freely. He does not have any honor, and I will not grant him any respect.'

His younger brother struggled to sit up, gasping and coughing, weak like a newborn. And Beren mercilessly despoiled Curufin's gear and weapons, including the knife wrought by Telchar the Dwarf Master in Nogrod, Angrist.

Not until then had he breathed out heavily. By no means had he expected her to spare Curufin's life. To his surprise, the daughter of Thingol released Beren's arm, stood up, and turned to him. She was still graceful; the dirt and leaves of grass that stained her clothes only emphasized her own immortal beauty, almost blinding in the surrounding gloom. She looked at him, and when her eyes met his, her voice suddenly rang in his mind.

_Celegorm, you should not have fallen so low._

_Hold your tongue. I don't need you to tell me whether I should or not._ Instinctively he answered her. _Go with your mortal. Remember, you shall pay your price._

She still gazed at him; in her eyes there was no fear but sorrow.

_Do not go to Doriath. If you set your feet upon Menegroth, your doom shall find you._

All at once his anger returned. Why should he listen to her presumptuous prophecy? What had happened to this point had already reached his limit of tolerance. _If you think you can threaten me with that, you are utterly wrong. Your words are trivial and feeble indeed compared to all the threats the sons of Fëanor have heard. One day Doriath will fall by my hands. I swear._

..._Then I pity you, Celegorm._

His headache came back. Again he felt like a hound punished unfairly, full of rage yet helpless. _You feel you are holier than me? Who needs your condescending pity? Furthermore, how can you justify yourself to pity me?_

Beren's voice called him back to reality. The mortal of the House of Bëor pulled Curufin to his feet and flung him relentlessly.

'Your horse I keep for the service of Lúthien, and it may be accounted as happy to be free of such a master.' (1)

Curufin did not retort or argue, as if he had lost the ability to speak. The mastery of words his younger brother had been so proud of did not avail at this moment. From the unsteady gait it appeared that Curufin still had not fully recovered from the choke. When Curufin walked closer he saw clearly the black and blue marks on his brother's neck. But right then his younger brother turned to face Beren and cursed, harsh and malicious.

'Go hence, unto a swift and bitter death!' (2)

He bent and reached out to help his brother mount. He felt Curufin digging at his cloak, but did not pay too much heed. He was still looking at them, especially her.

An urge was compelling him to kill that mortal, kill Huan, and even kill the daughter of Thingol. How could anything still be of any significance with such insults? But she held his eyes as if she had read his thoughts. Her gaze troubled him. Again, he found himself unable to meet her eyes straight.

Probably having sensed his hesitation Curufin drew closer and whispered at his ear. 'Let's go, my brother.'

He followed his younger brother's suggestion out of instinct. When he turned his horse to the north he glimpsed at her one last time. She had turned away together with that mortal. But Huan was watching him, still as stone.

All at once he felt a lift on his back, and before he turned his head Curufin had fired an arrow, - with his bow. Everything happened in a flash that could not be measured. He saw Huan jump up like a lightning catching the first arrow that was aimed at the daughter of Thingol; but Curufin's second shot had already been released, although again it did not hit the mark - this time it was Beren the mortal that stepped in front of her and took it. He watched the arrow smiting into the mortal's chest and blood spilling like a blooming crimson flower.

'What are you doing?' He cried, astounded, almost unable to believe his eyes. His younger brother did not pay any heed to him but simply kicked the horse. His stallion started galloping at once. Next moment he was deprived of the chance of questioning his brother, for Huan roared and sprang upon them like a blazing fire. He could not remember how long they had fled, only that when they finally came to a stop weary and worn, both the horse and the riders were soaked with sweat. For a while he merely tended to his gear without speaking; but in the end he could not help but burst out.

'You should not have assaulted her in the end.'

'And you should not have let her go in the first place.'

The instant answer silenced him. He could not retort. For the rest of the journey both of them kept silent, until the cold stone walls of the fortress of Himring came in sight. At that moment Curufin's voice was so cold as if it could even freeze the Iron Mountains of Angband.

'At least that mortal would not escape a death.'

Finally it was proven that even his younger brother's judgement could be wrong. That mortal did not die; besides that, he accomplished a great deed that was marveled and honored by all Elves and Men. He journeyed with his beloved Lúthien through all the danger and peril to Angband and successfully took a Silmaril from the crown of the Dark Lord.

_If he had died the problem might have been much simpler. _Watching from afar the endless dust on the plains of Anfauglith he thought, while a host larger than ever were ready to march behind him and his brothers, including all the Noldor in East Beleriand, Dwarfs of Belegost and Nogrod, and the dark Men that were not the Edain but swore their allegiance to the House of Fëanor, Easterlings. Banners of all different colors were flying like alive in the strong wind, and the emblems of the Star of Fëanor were everywhere, almost blinding in the sunlight of midsummer. When he turned to the center of the formation he saw the standard of the House of Fëanor, chromatic flames, proud and unruly; and his eldest brother Maedhros was right there, his luxurious copper hair distinguishable as always.

He was in charge of the right flank with both the Noldor and Men under command, and Curufin was his second commander. Although he could not see the left flank from here, he knew Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras were ready too.

'Lord Celegorm, the order from Lord Maedhros: _Wait where you are_.'

He nodded an acknowledgement. His new herald, Lachodir, was a Noldo still young in age among the Eldar. According to the young elf himself he once had Lachodir in his service before Bragollach, in which the young elf was separated from the main host and made his way to Himring at last. When he and Curufin arrived at Himring the young elf came forth upon the first news and showed much more joy upon his return than he could ever have expected. 'Perhaps you do not remember, my lord, but you saved my life in that battle,' the elf with light-grey eyes said earnestly. 'If possible, I am more than grateful to be able to join you and serve you again.'

And now the chance finally came. Although their eldest brother did not react at first upon the news they brought, soon after when the deed of the daughter of Thingol and the mortal became renowned Maedhros sent to Thingol declaring the rights over that Silmaril. It was not unexpected that Thingol would not relinquish the jewel. That old dark elf hiding in Doriath had been devising against them in everything that involved the House of Fëanor. But Maedhros did not respond then. Their eldest brother was pondering another possibility, one that could be more acceptable and supportable to his dear cousin Fingon of the House of Fingolfin, now the High King of the Noldor - to form an alliance that gathers all the strength they could gather and issue an open challenge to Morgoth. However, when he and Curufin were enraged by Thingol's scornful words to their messengers and vowed openly that they would slay Thingol and destroy his realm and people after coming victorious from war were the jewel not surrendered freely, Maedhros did not rebuke them. Perhaps Curufin again saw the truth, as he had done so many times before. - 'Because that is also what Maitimo has to do once we get the other two Silmarils.'

Therefore here they stood in the battlefield, waiting for a final open war with the Dark Lord with the fates of both sides at stake.

But no major aid came from Nargothrond, or from Doriath. Recalling his eldest brother's face while learning of the refusal from those two Elven Kingdoms, he could not help but curve a contorted smile. _My brother, you are the same as me in truth. We are both sons of Fëanor, and isn't it obvious how the House of Fëanor shall eliminate the obstacles before them?_

Looking up he examined the direction of the left flank again, and chanced to meet a dark-skinned man's eyes straight. As if his gaze had burnt the Easterling, the man avoided his eyes hastily and nervously. He frowned and turned his face away in scorn and disgust. _That should be one of those Easterlings of Ulfang, _he thought. _What is Caranthir thinking about? These stupid mortals are merely some brief and unhappy people, doomed to death. 'There is courage in Men', how ridiculous. Has Caranthir ever seen such 'courage in Men'? How can he come to trust a race other than the Elves so much, especially when he could not even help but scorn the House of Finarfin before?_

But their eldest brother deemed all the forces to be precious. In a time of dire need it would be unwise to be overly selective.

_Well then, let's wait, my brother._ He thought. _Wait for your trusted mortals to tell you when to march, and then once and for all, put everything to an end._

All was indeed put to an end. But not in the way they expected.

The strength of Morgoth was truly powerful and terrible, even beyond their imagination. But the Dark Lord did not achieve his victory by fire dragons and Balrogs, neither werewolves nor beasts, nor the swarming Orcs like an endless black tide. The Enemy had conspired victory before the battle started, because Ulfang the Easterling had betrayed Maedhros' host to Morgoth. The seed of destruction had been planted, and would sprout when the time came.

It was the treachery of Men that had brought all to an end.

But there was no time for him to think more in the middle of a heating battle, not to mention the fact that thinking was never his expertise. _We've lost,_ he made the judgement by a simple glimpse around the tumult caused by the internal feud. While fighting mercilessly with blood spilling at every single strike he surveyed the situation, and saw that the traitors had come close to Maedhros' standard. _We must retreat; otherwise we'll all die here._ Crying out the command at the top of his lungs he looked around and searched Lachodir among his guards hoping to get a hold on his herald as well; but even as he sought out the young elf a sudden and tremendous pain overwhelmed him.

Struggling he turned his head, and caught sight of an evil fleer of a troll. Then he lowered his eyes, and realized a blood stained spear-point was there sticking out of his own body in front of him.

Before he lost his consciousness he only had time to recognize what mistake he had made. He was too careless and forgot a fact. The loyal shadow that had always guarded his back was gone.

When he came back to himself he found him in a glade instead of the battlefield. Lachodir was sitting next to him, with blood all over; the dented weapons and the notched suits of armor were enough to prove that there had been a tough battle. Some other guards were resting a little ways off, but something that lay still nearby drew his attention.

When he recognized it his breath stopped. His stallion was lying in a pool of his own blood; the once shiny and smooth silver-grey mane was soaked in dark red.

Before he recovered from the shock Lachodir turned. Finding him awake the young elf was visibly relieved. Yet when following his gaze Lachodir's face darkened.

'...My lord, it was your horse that had broken through with you on his back. And then...'

He started coughing. The taste of his own blood was so strange that he almost vomited. But when the young elf tried to support him he shook him off. Then every word squeezed between lips was like a torture, he could sense the scalding inside his heart.

'...Then I will need a new horse.'

Many years later in a deep winter, when he rode into the defenseless Doriath on a new white stallion, the fire burning in his heart was colder than the biting wind.

_I'll complete what is left._

What was left? His curses had all been set to effect, like a cruel design of Mandos. Huan died, having met his doomed end with Morgoth's wolf Carcharoth for the mortal Beren. His horse died, having given up his life to save him from the Nirnaeth. Beren died. Along with the daughter of Thingol. Although they had been granted a second life they had to die again, because they were doomed to be mortal and leave the confinement of the World. Nargothrond had fallen. Orodreth died in battle. The ones who had betrayed him either perished in the evil fire of the dragon, or were held captive by the Dark Lord. They died because of one mortal they trusted and supported, as he had cursed. Thingol was killed. Melian departed. The defense of Doriath disappeared. The Dwarfs sacked the splendid halls of Menegroth, and if not for this half-elf that claimed to be rebuilding his grandfather's kingdom and renewing its glory, the once great Hidden Kingdom would have disappeared.

Thus what else should he do? ...An Oath for the jewels wrought by his father. And a threat for the destruction of Doriath.

In fact these two might well be fulfilled together with one action.

And thus he came. In a deep winter, a time he deliberately chose. But they did not come to destroy Doriath, at least according to Maedhros that was not their intention. They came here not to kill, but for the Silmaril, the jewel that should have belonged to them by right, the jewel they vowed to regain at whatever price.

_You need someone to say it for you, my brother, although you made the decision long ago. And I do not mind being that one, because the actions we plan to take are the same._

He saw the great bridge across the river of Esgalduin. The city lay at the other side, Menegroth, the Thousand Caves, the heart of Doriath. He recognized the one he was looking for at first sight. The heir of Elu Thingol was standing still at the end of the bridge, with the grand city behind. When their eyes met he thought, _Dior Eluchíl truly shares her blood._

With a slight clang, his sword was unsheathed.

Dior Eluchíl was a warrior mightier than he had expected. He should have anticipated it. That half-elf was the son of Beren. Morgoth had set a price for the head of that mortal the same as for the High King of the Noldor. It was that mortal that had escaped from the slaughter of Bragollach, that had survived the betrayal of his partner, that had wandered alone in the treacherous and dangerous Dorthonion, that had crossed the Mountain of Terror and Nan Dungortheb, that had passed the Girdle of Melian and entered Doriath, that had almost strangled Curufin with bare hands, and at last, a deed that nobody could ever match, that had retrieved a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth with his beautiful lover. ...Was it a pity? He, Celegorm son of Fëanor, had never fought a single combat with that mortal.

...Or if he had, it would have been luckier for him. At least falling upon Beren's hand sounded better than upon his son.

He backed up a step, lowered his eyes, and saw blood gushing out from his chest. He knew it was fatal, and he was close to his end. Everlasting Dark. No redemption. Ever.

_I pity you, Celegorm._

_Who needs your pity?_

He spat in conceit. It turned out to be crimson foams of blood.

_...Especially when the one who took my life is your son?_

When he fell he did not feel any pain. Even the Everlasting Dark seemed to be so remote to him, - perhaps the shadow of the Oath had never been so important to him. When he decided to leave Finrod to die in Sauron's dungeon, usurp the kingship in Nargothrond, and take control in Doriath, how much passion towards the Silmarils was taken into account? When he vowed to destroy Doriath and later truly put it into action, and finally led himself to his doom, did he merely want to regain that jewel?

When he lit the fire in Losgar and plotted his vengeance in Himlad, did he think of his Oath? When he attempted to send the one he loved to death, one time after another, was his choice related to the Oath?

Not an excuse was the Oath. Darkness rose from within.

He closed his eyes, and the white figure that had been haunting in his dreams and waning day after day suddenly became clear at this moment. In the endless dark night she was so bright and so beautiful, close at hand while far at the horizon.

_Are you laughing, Aredhel, Iriss_ë_? ...You had always been the winner. You had always been laughing at me._

He tried to raise his hand, but only found he couldn't.

..._knowing more about animals than about people..._

In truth did he know the animals well? ...Huan. Another shadow that haunted him. Had he ever known him? Had he seriously considered why the hound gave up his life for a mere mortal? Did he really understand why Huan chose to leave him in the end, after forgoing the Blessed Realm for the path of exile and thus bearing the Doom of the Noldor along with him?

He did not know. He truly never knew. ...As for people, he was even worse. Aredhel. Irissë. Did he know her? He loved her, it must be so, but he had never known what she wanted and why she had always kept distance from him, as well as why she chose that Sindarin lunatic instead of him and paid the price with her life. Did he know Curufin? Had his younger brother always been using him merely as a weight stone on the scale of power? If this were true, why would Curufin advise him to return to Himlad in the fortress of Rerir? Did he know Lachodir? The young elf was willing to follow him to whatever end; right before he fell he heard Lachodir swearing vengeance at whatever price. But he never remembered what good he had done for his herald. _Is it always so ironic? _What you trust will betray you in the end, while what you neglect will surprise you? Or, it is all the opposite - what you trust betrays you because you think they will not betray you whatever you do, while what you neglect surprises you because in them you never have such confidence and expectation?

_...I pity you, Celegorm._

_...Is that what you truly meant, - Lúthien?_

...Lúthien. To him she had always been the 'daughter of Thingol', although he knew her name as well as others. _Lúthien. Lúthien Tinúviel._ At this moment when life was departing from him he finally called her name instead of her identity in his thoughts. Did he truly hate her? He did not know. All he knew was that in some manner she had touched his heart, and it was not by her beauty, although in this they ironically shared something in common - Lúthien the fair, Celegorm the fair. But was that love? If yes, how could someone like him have loved twice in his life? He was a son of Fëanor, and in his veins ran his father's blood - even though his father and his mother had become estranged, he knew they never changed their hearts. But if it was not love, what was it? A yearning for something he had already lost forever, or never even owned?

His consciousness was waning. He could not verify whether the faint calls from far away were illusions. But even if he could keep himself awake, he would not be able to give an answer to these questions.

Because he had never known himself.

When the Everlasting Dark was falling upon him he suddenly laughed out. For himself, for all that he had done. _Is that because of myself? - Is it because of myself that all I wish to have and keep is doomed to be lost in the most unimaginable manner?_

Sad, but true.

(The End)

* * *

Celegorm's new herald Lachodir is my original character. (His previous herald should have chosen to reject him and stayed in Nargothrond when Celegorm and Curufin were driven out.) I hoped to create somebody who would avenge Celegorm after his death. In fact it is fairly ironic that when Celegorm finally had someone so 'loyal' to him the loyalty only served such an evil act. 

I also skipped some details in this story, such as why Celegorm did not try to attack Lúthien when she wore the Silmaril, and how Celegorm stirred his brothers to destroy Doriath when the Silmaril was sent to Dior. The reasons are not complicated: first, Celegorm's internal conflicts and development had completed by the time he utterly lost Huan; second, these details were included in my other fanfic Silhouettes of Doom as a parallel analysis.

(1) (2): From _The Silmarillion_, Of Beren and Lúthien.

* * *

Postscript 

_Love is sweet, but it cannot change a man's nature._

_- Lyanna Stark__，_from_ A Song of Ice and Fire_

Thus ends Sad But True, a story about Celegorm the fair. Originally I simply decided to write something to give this typical villain Noldorin prince in _The Silmarillion_ more details and possibilities, but the story grew upon telling - I might have had the intention to 're-interpret' him at first, but as I wrote I found him truly unforgivable.

Although I ended up with a fairly long story for him (for somebody whose native language is not English, this story is truly long), I do not support or even agree with any of his terrible conduct. I gave him character and logic, and even some reasons, to free him from a simple villain role in _The Silmarillion_. But I cannot pity him. If you, my dear readers, feel he might be excused in some sense, please refer to the quote from _The Game of Thrones_, _A Song of Ice and Fire_: _Love is sweet, but it cannot change a man's nature. _It's true that love itself is not wrong, but we do not forgive the heart that distorted this love.


End file.
